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By Transfer 
P.O., Dept. 
Mar 23 06 


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J. COLE. 





S' 


^‘Honnerd Madam, 

“ Wich i hav seed in the paper a page Boy 
wanted, and begs to say J. Cole is over thertene, 
and I can dene plate, wich my brutther is under a 
butler and lerned me, and I can wate, and no how 
to dene winders and boots. J. Cole opes you will 
let me cum. I arsks 8 and all T ^ 



my washin I will take sevven. 


you well and opes to give sattisfaxshun. i can cum 


J. Cole. 


tomorrer. 


“P.S. — He is not verry tori but growin. My 
brutther is a verry good hite. i am sharp and can 
rede and rite and can hadd figgers if you like.” 


CHAPTER L 


I HAD advertised for a page-boy, and 
Laving puzzled through some dozens of 
answers, more or less illegible and im- 
possible to understand, had come to the 
last one of the packet, of which the 
above is an exact copy. 


10 


J. Cole. 


The epistle was enclosed in a clumsy 
envelope, evidently home-made, with the 
aid of scissors and gum, and was written 
on a half-sheet of letter-paper, in a large 
hand, with many blots and smears, on 
penciled lines. 

There was something quaint and 
straightforward in the letter, in spite of 
the utter ignorance of grammar and 
spelling; and while I smiled at the evi- 
dent pride in the brutther ” who was 
a ‘^verry good hite,” and the offer to 
take less wages if I would do his 
washin,’^ I found myself wondering 
what sort of a waif upon the sea of life 
was this not very tall person, over thir- 
teen, who ^Vould serve me well.^^ 


J. Cole. 


11 


I had many letters to answer and sev- 
eral appointments to make, and had 
scarcely made up my mind whether or 
not to trouble to write to my accom- 
plished correspondent, who was sharp, 
and could rede and rite, and hadd fig- 
gers,” when, a shadow falling on the 
ground by me as I sat by the open win- 
dow, I looked up, and saw, . standing op- 
posite my chair, a boy — the very small- 
est boy, with the very largest blue eyes 
I ever saw. The clothes on his little 
limbs were evidently meant for some- 
body almost double his size, but they 
were clean and tidy. 

In one hand he held a bundle, tied in 
a red handkerchief, and in the ether a 


12 


J. Cole. 


bunch of wild-flowers that bore signs of 
having traveled far in the heat of the 
sun, their blossoms hanging down, dusty 
and fading, and their petals dropping 
one by one on the ground. 

^^Who are you, my child I said, 
^^and what do you want.” 

At my question the boy placed his 
flowers on my table, and, pulling off his 
cap, made a queer movement with his 
feet, as though ho were trying to step 
backwards with both at once, and said, 
in a voice so deep that it quite startled 
me, so strangely did it seem to belong to 
the size of the clothes, and not the 
wearer, — 

‘‘Please, ^m, ifs J. Cole; Pve come 


J. Cole. 


13 


to live with yer. IVe brought all my 
clothes, and everythink.” 

For the moment I felt a little bewild- 
ered, so impossible did it seem that the 
small specimen of humanity before me 
was actually intending to enter any- 
body’s service; he looked so childish and 
wistful, and yet with a certain honesty 
of purpose shining out of those big, 
wide-open eyes, that interested me in 
him, and made me want to know more 
of him. 

You are very small to go into ser- 
vice,” I said, and I am afraid you 
could not do the work I should require; 
besides, you should have waited to hear 


14 


J. Cole. 


from me, and then have come to see me, 
if I wanted you to do so.” 

Yes, I know I’m not very big,” said 
the boy, nervously fidgeting with his 
bundle; ^Meastways not in hite; but my 
arms is that long, they’ll reach ever so 
’igh above my ’ed, and as for bein’ 
strong, you should jest see me lift my 
father’s big market basket when it’s 
loaded with ’taters, or wotever is for 
market and I hope you’ll not be angry 
because I come to-day; but Dick — that’s 
my brutther Dick — he says, ^ You f oiler 
my advice, Joe,’ he says, ^ and go arter 
this ’ere place, and don’t let no grass 
grow under your feet. I knows what it 
is goin’ arter places; there’s such lots of 


J. Cole. 


15 


fitin^ after ’em, that if you lets so much 
as a hour go afore yer lookes ’em up, 
there’s them as slips in fust gets it; and 
wen yer goes to the door they opens it 
and sez, ‘It ain’t no use, boy, we^re 
sooted;” and then where are yer, I’d 
like to know? So,’ sez he, ‘Joe, you 
look sharp and go, and maybe you’ll get 
it.’ So I cum, mum, and please, that’s 
all.” 

“ But about your character, my boy,” 
I said. “ You must have somebody to 
speak for you, and say you are honest, 
and what you are able to do. I always 
want a good character with my servants; 
the last page-boy I had brought three 
years’ good character from his former 
situation.” 


16 


J. Cole. 


said Joe, with a serious look, 
did he stay three years in a place afore 
he came to you? Wotever did he leave 
them people for, where he were so com- 
fortable? If I stay with you three 
years, you won’t catch me a leavin’ yer, 
and goin’ somewhere else. Wot a muff 
that chap was!” 

I explained that it did not always de- 
pend on whether a servant wanted to 
stay or not, but whether it suited the em- 
ployers to keep him. 

^ ’Praps he did somethin’, and they 
giv’ ’m the sack,” murmured Joe; ^^he 
was a flat!” 

But about this character of yours,” 
I said ; if I decide to give you a trial, 


J. Cole. 


ir 


although I am almost sure you are too 
small, and won’t do, where am I to go 
for your character? Will the people 
where your brother lives speak for you?” 

Oh, yes!” cried the little fellow, his 
cheeks flushing; I know Dick’ll ask 
’em to give me a caricter. Miss Edith, I 
often cleaned ’er boots. Once she came 
’ome in the mud, and was a-goin’ out 
agin directly; and they was lace-ups, and 
a orful bother to do up even; and she 
come into the stable-yard with ’er dog, 
and sez: ^ Dick, will you chain Tiger up, 
and this little boy may clean my boots 
if he likes, on my feet?’ So I cleaned 
’em, and she giv’ me sixpence; and after 
that, when the boots came down in the 


18 


J. Cole. 


mornin’, I got Dick always to let me 
clean them little boots, and I kep ’em 
clean in the insides, like the lady’s maid 
she told me not to put my ’ands inside 
’em if they was black. Miss Edith, 
she’ll giv’ me a caricter, if Dick asks 
’er.” 

Just then the visitors’ bell rang, and 
I sent my would-be page into the kitchen 
to wait until I could speak to him again, 
and told him to ask the cook to give him 
something to eat. 

Here are your flowers,” I said; ^^take 
them with you.” 

He looked at me, and then, as if 
ashamed of having offered them, gath- 
ered them up in his hands, and with the 


J. Cole. 


19 


corner of the handkerchief wiped some 
leaves and dust-marks off my table, then 
saying in a low voice, didn’t know 
you ’ad beauties of yer own, like them 
in the glass pots, but I’ll giv’ ’em to the 
cook.” So saying, he went away into 
the kitchen, and my visitors came in, 
and by and by some more friends ar- 
rived. 

The weather was very warm, and we 
sat chattering and enjoying the shade 
of the trees by the open French window. 
Presently, somebody being thirsty, I 
suggested lemonade and ice, and I of- 
fered strawberries, and (if possible) 
cream; though my mind misgave me as 
to the latter delicacy, for we had sev- 


20 


J. Cole. 


eral times been obliged to do without 
some of our luxuries if they entailed 

etching , as we had no boy to run er- 
rands quickly on an emergency and be 
useful. However, I rang the bell; and 
when the housemaid, whose temper, 
since she had been what is curiously 
termed in servant’ s-hall language sin- 
gle-handed,” was most trying, entered, I 
said Make some lemonade Mary, and 
ask cook to gather some strawberries 
quickly, and bring them, with some 
cream.” 

Mary looked at me as who should say, 

Well, I’m sure! and who’s to do it all? 
You’ll have to wait a bit.” And I know 
we should have to wait, and therefore 


J. Cole. 


21 


resigned myself to do so patiently, keep- 
ing up the ball of gossip, and wondering 
if a little music later on would perhaps 
while away the time. 

Much to my amazement, in less than a 
quarter of an hour Mary entered with 
the tray, all being prepared; and directly 
I looked at the strawberry-bowl I de- 
tected a novel feature in the table decor- 
ation. A practiced hand had evidently 
been at work; but whose? Mary was 
far too matter-of-fact a person. Food, 
plates, knives and forks, glasses, and a 
cruet-stand were all she ever thought 
necessary; and even for a center vase of 
flowers I had to ask, and often to in- 
sist, during the time she was single- 
handed. 


22 


J. Cole. 


But here was my strawberry-bowl, a 
pretty one, even when unadorned, with 
its pure white porcelain stem, intwined 
with a wreath of blue convolvulus, and 
then a spray of white, the petals just 
peeping over the edge of the bowl, and 
resting near the luscious red fruit; the 
cream-jug, also white, had twining flow- 
ers of blue, and round the lemonade- jug, 
of glass, was a wreath of yellow blos- 
soms. 

^‘How exquisite!’’ exclaimed we all. 

What fairy could have bestowed such 
a treat to our eyes and delight to our 
sense of the beautiful?” 

I supposed some friend of the cook’s 
or Mary’s had been taking lessons in the 


J. Cole. 


23 


art of decoration, and had given us a 
specimen. 

Soon after, my friends having gone, 
I thought of J. Cole waiting to be dis- 
missed, and sent for him. 

Cook came in and with a preliminary 
^^Ahem!’’ which I knew of old meant, 
I have an idea of my own, and I mean 
to get it carried out,’’ said, “ Oh, if you 
please, ’m (if I might be so bold), did 
you think serious of engagin’ the boy 
that’s waitin’ in the kitchen?” 

^^Why do you ask. Cook?” I said. 

Well, ma’am,” she replied, trying to 
hide a laugh, of course it’s not for me 
to presume; but if I might say a word 
for him, I think he’s the very handiest 
2 


24 


J. Cole. 


and the sharpest one weVe ever had in 
this house, and weVe had a many, as you 
know. Why if youM only have seen 
him when Mary come in in her tantrums 
at ’aving to get the tray single-handed, 
and begun a-grumblin^ and a-bangin^ 
things about, as is her way, being of a 
quick temper, though, as I tells her, too 
slow a-movin* of herself. As I were a- 
sayin’, you should have seen that boy. 
If he didn’t up and leave his bread and 
butter and mug of milk, as he w^s a-en- 
joyin’ of as ’arty as you like, and, ^ Look 
’ere,’ says he, ‘giv’ me the jug. I’ll 
make some fine drink with lemons. I 
see Dick do it often up at his place. 
Giv’ me the squeezer. Wait till I 


J. Cole. 


25 


washes my ’ands. I won’t be a minnit.’ 
Then in he rushes into the scullery, 
washes his hands, runs hack again in a 
jiffy. ^ Got any snow sugar? I mean 
all done fine like snow.’ I gave it him; 
and, sure enough, his little hands moved 
that quick, he had made the lemonade 
before Mary would have squeezed a 
lemon. ^ Where do yer buy the cream?’ 
he says next. ^ I’ll run and get it while 
you picks the strawberries.’ Perhaps it 
wasn’t right, me a-trustin’ him, being a 
stranger, but he was that quick I 
couldn’t say no. Up he takes the jug 
and was off; and when I come in from 
the garden with the strawberries, if he 
hadn’t been and put all them flowers on 


26 


J. Cole. 


the things. He begs my pardon for in- 
terfering like, and says, ’ope you’ll 
excuse me a-doin’ of it, but the woman 
at the milk-shop said I might ’ave ’em; 
and I see the butler where Dick lives 
wind the flowers about like that, and ’ave 
’elped ’m often; and, please, I paid for 
the cream, because I’d got two bob of my 
own, Dick giv’ me on my birthday. Oh, 
I do ’ope, Mrs. Cook,’ he says, ^ that the 
lady’ll take me; I’ll serve ’er well, I will, 
indeed;’ and then he begins to cry and 
tremble, poor little chap, for he’d been 
running about a lot, and never eaten or 
drank what I gave him, because he 
wanted to help, and it was hot in the 
kitchen, I suppose, and he felt faint like. 


J. Cole. 


27 


but there he is, crying; and just now, 
when the bell rung, which was two big 
boys after the place, he says, ^Oh, please 
say We’re sooted,” and ask the lady if I 
may stay.’ So, I’ve taken the liberty, 
ma’am,” said Cook, for somehow I like 
that little chap, and there’s a deal in 
him, I do believe.” 

So saying. Cook retired; and in a mo- 
ment, J. Cole was standing in her place, 
the blue eyes brimming over with tears, 
and an eager anxiety as to what his 
fate would be making his poor little 
hands clutch at his coat-sleeves, and his 
feet shuffle about so nervously, that I 
had not the courage to grieve him by a 
refusal. 


28 


J. Cole. 


Well, Joseph, I said, “ I have de- 
cided to give you a month’s trial. I 
shall write to the gentleman who em- 
ploys your brother; and if he speaks well 
of you, you may stay.” 

^^And may I stay now, please?” he 
said. “ May I stay before you gets any 
answer to your letter to say I’m all right? 
I think you’d better let me; there ain’t 
no boy; and Mrs. Cook and Mary’ll ’ave 
a lot to do. I can stay in the stable, if 
you don’t like to let me be in the house, 
afore you writes the letter.” 

^^ISTo, Joe,” I replied; ^^you may not 
be a good, honest boy, but I think you 
are; and you shall stay here. Now go 
back to Mrs. Wilson and finish your 


J. Cole. 


29 


milk, and eat something more if you can, 
then have a good rest and a wash; they 
will show you where you are to sleep, 
and at dinner, this evening, I shall see 
if you can wait at table.” 

Thank you very kindly,” said the 
boy, his whole face beaming with de- 
light, and I’ll be sure and do every- 
think I can for you.” Then he went 
quickly out of the room; for I could see 
he was quite overcome, now that the un- 
certainty was over. 

Alone once more, I reasoned with my- 
self, and felt I was doing an unwise 
thing. Just at that time my husband 
was away on business for some months; 
and I had no one to advise me, and no 




30 


J. Cole. 


one to say to me nay either. My con- 
science told me my husband would say, 
We cannot tell who this boy is, where 
he has lived, or who are his associates; 
he may be connected with a gang of 
thieves for what we know to the con- 
trary. Wait, and have proper refer- 
ences before trusting him in the house.^^ 
And he would be right to say so to me, 
but not every one listens to conscience 
when it points the opposite way to incli- 
nation. Well, J. Cole remained; and 
when I entered the dining-room, to my 
solitary dinner, he was there, with a face 
shining from soap and water, his curls 
evidently soaped too, to make them go 
tidily on his forehead. The former 


J. Cole. 


31 


page having left his livery jacket and 
trousers, Mary had let Joe dress in them, 
at his earnest request. 

She told me afterwards that he had 
sewn up the clothes in the neatest man- 
ner wherever they could he made 
smaller; and the effect of the jacket, 
which he had stuffed out in the chest 
with hay, as we discovered by the per- 
fume, was very droll. He had a great 
love of bright colors, and the trousers 
being large, showed bright red socks; 
the jacket sleeves being much too short 
for the long arms, of which he was so 
proud, allowed the wristbands of a vivid 
blue flannel shirt to be seen. 

I was alone, so could put up with this 


J. Cole. 


S2 

droll figure at my elbow ; but the serious- 
ness of his face was such a contrast to 
the comicality of the rest of him, that 
I found myself beginning to smile every 
now and then, but directly I saw the 
serious eyes on me, I felt obliged to be- 
come grave at once. 

The waiting at table I could not 
exactly pronounce a success; for, al- 
though Joe’s quick eyes detected in an 
instant if I wanted anything, his anxiety 
to be first in the field,” and give Mary 
no chance of instructing him in his 
duties, made him collide against her 
more than once in his hasty rushes to the 
sideboard and back to my elbow with the 
dishes, which he generally handed to me 


J. Cole. 


33 


long before be reached me, his long arms 
enabling him to reach me with his hands 
while he was yet some distance from me, 
and often on the wrong side. I also 
noticed when I wanted water he lifted 
the water-bottle on high, and poured as 
though it was something requiring a 
head. Mary nearly caused a catastrophe 
at that moment by frowning at him, and 
saying, salto voce, Whatever are you 
doing? Is that the way to pour out 
water? It ain’t hale, stupid!” 

Joe’s face became scarlet; and to hide 
his confusion he seized a dish-cover, and 
hastily went out of the room with it, re- 
turning in a moment pale and serious as 
became one who at heart was every inch 


34 


J. Cole. 


a family butler with immense responsi- 
bilities. 

Joe was quiet and sharp, quick and in- 
telligent; but I could see be was quite 
new to waiting at table. To remove a 
disb was, I could see, bis greatest dread; 
and it amused me to see tbe cleverness 
with wbicb be managed that Mary 
should do that part of tbe duty. 

When only my plate and a disb re- 
mained to be cleared away, be would 
slowly get nearer as I got towards tbe 
last morsel, and before Mary had time, 
would take my plate, and go quite slowly 
to tbe sideboard with it, leisurely remove 
tbe knife and fork, watching meanwhile 
in tbe mirror if Mary was about to take 


J. Cole. 


35 


the dish away; if not he would take 
something outside, or bring a decanter, 
and ask if I wanted wine. 

I was, however, pleased to find him no 
more awkward, as I feared he would 
have been, and when, having swept the 
grate and placed my solitary wineglass 
and dessert-plate on the table, he retired, 
softly closing the door after him, I felt 
I should make something of J. Cole, and 
hoped his character would be good. 


CHAPTEE IL 


The next morning a tastefully ar- 
ranged vase of flowers in tlie centre of 
the breakfast-table, and one magniflcent 
rose and bud by my plate, were silent 
but eloquent appeals to my interest on 
behalf of my would-be page; and when 
Joe himself appeared, fresh from an 
hour’s self-imposed work in my garden, 
I saw he had become quite one of the 
family; for Bogie, my little terrier, 
usually very snappish to strangers, and 
who considered all boys as his natural 
enemies, was leaping about his feet, evi- 
dently asking for more games, and our 


J. Cole. 


3T 


old magpie was perched familiarly on his 
shoulder. 

Good-morning, Joe,” I said. “ You 
are an early riser, I can see, by the work 
you have already done in the garden.” 

Why, yes,” replied Joe, blushing, 
and touching an imaginary cap; ‘^Tm 
used to bein’ up. There was ever so 
much to do of a momin’ at ’ome; and 
I ’ad to ’elp father afore I could go to 
be with Dick, and I was with Dick 
a’most every mornin’ by seven, and a 
good mile and a arf to walk to ’is place. 
Shall I bring in the breakfast, mum? 
Mary’s told me what to do.” 

Having given permission, Joe set to 
work to get through his duties, this time 


38 


J. Cole. 


without any help, and I actually trem- 
bled when I saw him enter with a tray 
containing all things necessary for my 
morning meal, he looked so over- 
weighted ; but he was quite equal to it as 
far as landing the tray safely on the 
sideboard. But, alas! then came the 
ordeal; not one thing did poor Joe know 
where to place, and stood with the coffee- 
pot in his hand, undecided whether it 
went before me, or at the end of the 
table, or whether he was to pour out my 
coffee for me. 

I saw he was getting very nervous, so 
took it from him, and in order to put him 
at ease, I remarked, — 

“ I think, perhaps, I had better show 


J. Cole. 


89 


you, Joe, just for once, how I like my 
breakfast served, for every one has little 
ways of their own, you know; and you 
will try to do it my way when you know 
how I like it, won’t you ? ” 

Thereupon I arranged the dishes, etc., 
for him, and his big eyes followed my 
every movement. The blinds wanted 
pulling down a little presently, and then 
I began to realize one of the drawbacks 
in having such a very small boy as page. 
Joe saw the sun’s rays were nearly blind- 
ing me, and wanted to shut them out; 
but on attempting to reach the tassel at- 
tached to the cord, it was hopelessly be- 
yond his reach. In vain were the long 
arms stretched to their utmost, till the 
3 


40 


J. Cole. 


sleeves of the ex-page’s jacket retreated 
almost to Joe’s elbows, but no use. 

I watched, curious to see what ho 
would do. 

‘^Please ’m, might I fetch an ’all 
chair?” said Joe; “Pm afraid Pm not 
big enuf to reach the tossle, but I won’t 
pull ’em up so ’igh to-morrow.” 

I gave him permission, and carefully 
the chair was steered among my tables 
and china pots. Then Joe mounted, and 
by means of rising on the tips of his toes 
he was able to accomplish the task of 
lowering the blinds. 

I noticed at that time that Joe wore 
bright red socks, and I little thought 
what a shock those bright-colored hose 


J. Cole. 


41 


were to give me later on under different 
circumstances. 

That evening I had satisfactory letters 
regarding Joe’s character, and by degrees 
he became used to his new home, and we 
to him. His quaint sayings and wonder- 
ful love of the truth, added to extreme 
cleanliness, made him welcome in the 
somewhat exclusive circle in which my 
housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, reigned 
supreme. 

Many a hearty burst of laughter came 
to me from the open kitchen-window 
across the garden in the leisure hour, 
when, the servants’ tea being over, they 
sat at work, while Joe amused them with 
his stories and reminiscences of the say- 


42 


J. Cole. 


ings and doings of his wonderful brother 
Dick. 

This same Dick was evidently the one 
being Joe worshipped on earth, and t(| 
keep his promises to Dick was a sacred 
duty. 

“ You donT know our Dick, Mrs. Wil- 
son,” said Joe, to the old housekeeper; 

if you did, youM understand why I no 
more dare go agen wot Dick told me, 
than I dare put my ’and in that ’ere fire. 
When I were quite a little chap, I took 
some big yaller plums once, out of one 
of the punnits father was a-packin’ for 
market, and I eat ’em. I don’t know to 
this hour wot made me take them plums; 
but I remember they were such prime 


J. Cole. 


43 


big uns, big as eggs, they was, and like 
lumps of gold, with a sort of blue shade 
over ’em. Father were very particular 
about not ’avin’ the fruit ’andled and 
takin’ the bloom off, and told me to 
cover ’em well with leaves. It was a 
broilin’ ’ot day, and I was tired, ’avin’ 
been stoopin’ over the baskits since four 
in the morning, and as I put the leaves 
over the plums I touched ’em; they felt 
so lovely and cool, and looked so juicy- 
like, I felt I must eat one, and I did; 
there was just six on ’em, and when I’d 
bin and eat one, there seemed such a 
empty place left in the punnit, that I 
knew father’d be sure to see, so I eat ’em 
all, and then threw the punnit to one 


44 


J. Cole. 


side. Just then, father comes up and 
says, ^ Count them punnits, Dick ! there 
ought to be forty on ^em. Twenty 
picked large for Mr. Moses, and twenty 
usuals for Marts!’ — two of our best cus- 
tomers they was. Well, Dick, he counts 
’em, and soon misses one. ‘ Thirty- 
eight, thirty-nine,’ he sez, and no more; 
' but ’ere’s a empty punnit,’ he sez. I 
was standing near, feelin’ awful, and 
wished I’d said I’d eat the plums afore 
Dick begun to count ’em, but I didn’t, 
and after that I couldn’t. ‘Joe!’ sez 
Dick, ‘I wants yer! ’Ow comes this 
empty punnit ’ere, along of the others? 
there’s plums bin in it, I can see, ’cos it’s 
not new. Speak up, youngster!’ I looked 


J. Cole. 


45 


at Dick’s face, Mrs. Wilson, and his eyes 
seemed to go right into my throat, and 
draw the truth out of me. ^ Speak up,’ 
he sez, a-gettin’ cross; ^ if you’ve prigged 
’em, say so, and you’ll get a good hidin’ 
from me, for a-doin’ of it; but if you 
tells me a lie, you’ll get such a hidin’ for 
ihat as’ll make you remember it all your 
life; so speak up, say you did it, and take 
your hidin’ like a brick, and if you didn’t 
prig ’em, say who did, ’cos you must ’ave 
seen ’em go.’ 

I couldn’t do nothing’, Mrs. Wilson, 
but keep my ’ed down and blubber out, 
* Please Dick, I eat ’em.’ 

“ Oh, you did, yer young greedy, did 
yer,’ he sez ^ Pm glad yer didn’t tell me 


46 


J. Cole. 


a lie. Fve got to giv^ yer a hidin^^, Joe; 
but giv’ us yer ’and, old chap, first, and 
mind wot I sez to yer: ^^Own up to ity 
wotever you doy^ and take your punish- 
ment; it’s ’ard to bear, but when the 
smart on it’s over yer forgets it; but if 
yer tells a lie to save yerself, yer feels 
the smart of that always; yer feels 
ashamed of yerself whenever yer thinks 
of it.’ And then Dick give me a 
thrashin’, he did, but I never ’ollered or 
made a row, tho’ he hit pretty ’ard. 
And, Mrs. Wilson, I never could look in 
Dick’s face if I told a lie, and I never 
shall tell one, I ’ope, as long as ever I 
live. You should just see Dick, Mrs. 
Wilson, he is a one-er, he is.” 


J. Cole. 


4Y 

Lor^ bless the boy/’ said Mary, the 
housemaid; why, if he isn’t a-cryin’ 
now. Whatever’s the matter? One 
minnit you’re making’ us larf fit to kill 
ourselves, and then you’re nearly makin’ 
us cry with your Dick, and your great 
eyes runnin’ over like that. iNTow get 
away, and take the dogs their supper, 
and see if you can’t get a bit of color in 
your cheeks before you come back.” 

So ofi Joe went, and soon the frantic 
barking in the stable-yard showed he had 
begun feeding his four-footed pets. 

Time went on; it was a very quiet 
household just then — my husband away 
in America, and my friends most of 
them enjoying their summer abroad, or 


48 


J. Cole. 


at some seaside place — all scattered here 
and there until autumn was over, and 
then we were to move to town, and spend 
the winter season at our house there. I 
hoped my dear sister and her girls would 
then join us, and, best of all, my dear 
husband would be home to make our cir- 
cle complete. 

Day by day Joe progressed in favor 
with everybody; his size was always a 
trouble, but his extreme good nature 
made everybody willing to help him over 
his difficulties. He invented all sorts of 
curious tools for reaching up to high 
places; and the marvels he would per- 
form with a long stick and a sort of claw 
at the end of it were quite astonishing. 


J. Cole. 


49 


I noticed whenever I spoke of going to 
town Joe did not seem to look forward 
to the change with any pleasure, al- 
though he had never been to London, he 
told me; but Dick had been once with 
his father, and had seen lots of strange 
things; among others a sad one, that 
made a great impression on Dick, and he 
had told the tale to Joe, so as to have 
almost as great an effect on him. 

It appeared that one night Dick and 
his father were crossing Waterloo 
Bridge, and had seen a young girl run- 
ning quickly along, crying bitterly. 
Dick tried to keep up with her, and 
asked her what was the matter. She 
told him to let her alone, that she meant 


50 


J. Cole. 


to drown herself, for she had nothing to 
live for, and was sick of her life. Dick 
persuaded her to tell him her grief, and 
heard from her that her mother and 
father had both been drowned in a 
steamer, and she was left with a little 
brother to take care of; he had been a 
great trouble to her, and had been led 
away by bad companions until he be- 
came thoroughly wicked. She had been 
a milliner, and had a room of her own, 
and paid extra for a little place where 
her brother could sleep. She fed and 
clothed him out of her earnings, al- 
though he was idle, and cruel enough to 
scold and abuse her when she tried to 
reason with him, and refused to let him 


J. Cole. 


51 


bring his bad companions to her home. 
At last he stole nearly all she had, and 
pawned it ; and among other things, some 
bonnets and caps belonging to the people 
who employed her, given as patterns for 
her to copy. These she had to pay for, 
and lost her situation besides. By de- 
grees all her clothes, her home, and all 
she had, went for food; and then this 
wicked boy left her, and the next thing 
she knew was that he had been taken up 
with a gang of burglars concerned in a 
jewel robbery. That day she had seen 
him in prison, and he was to be trans- 
ported for seven years; so the poor crea- 
ture, mad with grief, was about to end 
her life. Dick and his father would not 


J. Cole. 


5£ 

leave her until ske was quiet, and prom- 
ised them she would go and get a bed 
and supper with the money they gave 
her, and they promised to see her again 
the next day at a place she named. The 
next morning they went to the address, 
and found a crowd around the house. 
Somebody said a young woman had 
thrown herself out of a window, and had 
been taken up dead. It was too true; 
and the girl was the wretched, heart- 
broken sister they had helped over night. 
Her grief had been too much for her, 
and, poor thing, she awoke to the light 
of another day, and could not face it 
alone and destitute; so, despairing, she 
had ended her life. They went to the 


J. Cole. 


53 


hospital, and were allowed to see all that 
remained of the poor creature; and 
Dick’s description of it all, and his 
opinion that the brother “ might have 
been just such another little chap at first 
as Joe,” and What would that brother 
feel,” said Dick, “when he knew what 
he had done? for he done it,” said Dick; 
“he done that girl to death, the same as 
if he’d shov’d her out of that winder his- 
self.” 

“And,” said Joe, “I wonder if them 
chaps is goin’ about London now wot led 
her brother wrong? I don’t like Lon- 
don; and I wish we could stop ’ere.” 

I assured Joe that in London there 
was no danger of meeting such people 


64 


J. Cole. 


if lie kept to himself, and made no 
friends of strangers. 

Joe was also much afraid of having to 
wait at table when there were guests. In 
spite of all I could do, he was hopelessly 
nervous and confused when he had to 
wait on more than two or three people; 
and as I expected to entertain a good 
deal when we were in town, I could not 
help fearing J oe would be unequal to the 
duties. 

I could not bear the idea of parting 
with the little fellow, for, added to his 
good disposition, Joe, in his dark brown 
livery, with gilt buttons, his neat little 
ties, and clean hands; his carefully 
brushed curls, by this time trained into 


J. Cole. 


55 


better order, and shining like burnished 
gold in the sun; his tiny feet, with the 
favorite red socks, which he could and 
did darn very neatly himself when they 
began to wear out (and when he bought 
new ones they were always bright red), 
— Joe, let me tell you, was quite an orna- 
ment in our establishment, and the envy 
of several boys living in families round 
about, who tried in vain to get acquaint- 
ed with him, but he would not be friends, 
although he always refused their ad- 
vances with civil words. 

Sometimes a boy would linger when 
bringing a note or message for me, and 
try to draw Joe into conversation. In 
a few minutes I would hear Joe’s deep 


4 


56 


J. Cole. 


voice say, I think you had better go on 
now. IVe got my work to do, and I 
reckon youVe got yours a-waiting for yer 
at your place.” Then the side-door 
would shut, and Joe was bustling about 
his work. 


CHAPTER m. 


In the beginning of October we ar- 
rived in London. There had been much 
packing up, and much extra work for 
everybody, and Joe was in his element. 

What those long arms, and that will- 
ing heart, and those quick little hands 
got through, nobody but those he 
helped and worked for could tell. What- 
ever was wanted Joe knew where to find 
it. Joe’s knife was ready to cut a stub- 
born knot; Joe’s shoulders ready to be 
loaded with as heavy a weight as any 
man could carry. More than once I 
met him coming down-stairs with large 


58 


J. Cole. 


boxes he himself could almost have been 
packed in, and he declared he did not 
find them too heavy. 

You see, Missis,^^ he said, Fm that 
strong now since IVe been here, with all 
the good food I gets, and bein^ so happy 
like, that I feel almost up to carryin' 
anythink. I do believe I could lift that 
there pianner, if somebody would just 
give it a hoist, and let me get hold of it 
easy.” 

Yes, Joe was strong and well, and I 
am sure, happy, and I had never had a 
single misgiving about him since he 
stood with his fading flowers and shabby 
clothes at my window that summer day. 

At last we were settled in town, and 


J. Cole. 


59 


the winter season beginning. Our house 
was situated in the West End of Lon- 
don, a little beyond Bayswater. One of 
a row of detached houses, facing another 
row exactly similar in every way, except 
that the backs of those we lived in had 
small gardens, with each its own stable 
wall at the end, with coachman’s rooms 
above, the front of the stable facing the 
mews, and having the entrance from 
therp; the mews ran all along the backs 
of these houses. On the opposite side 
the houses facing ours had their gardens 
and back windows facing the high-road, 
and no stables. There was a private 
road belonging to this, Holling Park as 
it was called, and a watchman to keep 


60 


J. Cole. 


intruders out, and to stop organ-grinders, 
beggars, and such invaders of tbe peace 
from disturbing us. 

Somehow I was never as comfortable 
as in my snug cottage in the country. 
Kich, fashionable people lived about us, 
and all day long kept up the round of 
society life.’’ 

In the morning the large handsome 
houses would seem asleep, nothing mov- 
ing inside or out, except a tradesman’s 
cart, calling for orders, or workmen put- 
ting up or taking down awnings, at 
some house where there would be, or had 
been, a ball or entertainment of some 
kind. About eleven a carriage or two 
would be driven round from the mews, 


J. Cole. 


61 


and stop before a bouse to take some one 
for a morning drive; but very seldom 
was anybody on foot seen about. In the 
afternoon it was different, carriages 
rolled along incessantly, and streams of 
afternoon callers were going and coming 
from tbe bouses when tbe mistress was 
^^at borne; ” and at my door, too, soon 
began tbe usual din of bell and knocker. 
Joe was quite equal to the occasion, and 
enjoyed Friday, the day I received. 
Dressed in bis very best, and with a col- 
lar that kept his chin in what seemed to 
me a fearful state of torture, but added 
to bis height by at least half an inch, 
Joe stood behind tbe ball-door, ready to 
open it directly tbe knocker was released. 


62 


J. Cole. 


He ushered in the guests as though to 
the manner bom/’ giving out the names 
correctly, and with all the ease of an ex- 
perienced groom of the chambers. 

The conservatory leading out of the 
drawing-room was Joe’s especial pride; 
it was his great pleasure to syringe the 
hanging baskets, and attend to the ferns 
and plants. Many shillings from his 
pocket-money were spent in little sur- 
prises for me in the form of pots of musk, 
maiden-hair, or anything he could buy; 
his wages were all sent home, and he 
only kept for his own whatever he had 
given to him, and sometimes a guest 
would tip ” him more generously than 
I liked for his bright eyes and ready 


J. Cole, 


6a 


hands were always at everybody's ser- 
vice. 

After my husband’s return home — who 
from the first became Joe’s especial care, 
as to boots, brushing of clothes, etc. — it 
became necessary to give two or three 
dinner-parties, and I must confess I felt 
nervous as to how Joe would acquit him- 
self. 

In our dining-room was a very large 
bear-skin rug, and the floor being pol- 
ished oak, it was dangerous to step on 
this rug, for it would slip away from the 
feet on the smooth surface, and even the 
dogs avoided it, so many falls had they 
met with upon it. 

The first day of my husband’s arrival 


64 


J. Cole. 


we had my sister and a friend to dine, 
and had been talking about Joe in the 
few moments before dinner. 

My husband had been laughing at thd 
size of my page, and scolding me a little, 
or rather pretending to do so, for taking 
a written character. 

Little woman,’^ he said, don’t be 
surprised if one night a few country 
burglars make us a visit, and renew their 
acquaintance with Mr. J. Cole.” 

You don’t know Joe,” I replied, or 
you would never say that.” 

^^Do you know him so well, little 
wife?” said my dear sensible husband; 

remember he has only been in our ser- 
vice six months. In the country he had 


J. Cole. 


65 


very little of value in his hands, but here, 
it seems to me, he has too much. All 
the plate, and indeed everything of 
value, is in his pantry, and he is a very 
young boy to trust. One of the women 
servants should take charge of the plate- 
chest, I think. Where does this para- 
gon sleep?’’ 

^^Down-stairs,” I said, ^^next to the 
kitchen, at the back of the house; and 
you should see how carefully every night 
he looks to the plate-basket, counts every- 
thing and then asks Mrs. Wilson to see it 
is right, locks it up, and gives her the 
key to take care of. No one can either 
open or carry away an iron safe easily, 
and there is nothing else worth taking; 
besides, I know Joe is honest, I feel it’^ 


€6 


J. Cole. 


Well,” I hope so, dear,” was my hus- 
band^s reply, but I could see he was not 
quite comfortable about it. 

At dinner that day Joe had an acci- 
dent; he was dreadfully nervous, as 
usual, and when waiting, he forgot to at- 
tend to my guests first, but always came 
io me. The parlor-maid, a new one, and 
not a great favorite with Joe, made mat- 
ters worse by correcting him in an audi- 
ble voice; and once, when somebody 
•wanted oyster-sauce, she told Joe to 
hand it. The poor boy, wishing to obey 
quickly, forgot to give the bear-skin a 
•wide berth, slipped on it, and in a mo- 
ment had fallen full length, having in 
his fall deposited the contents of the 


J. Cole. 


67 


sauce-tureen partly into a blue leather 
armchair, and the rest onto my sister’s 
back. 

The boy’s consternation was dreadful. 
I could see he was completely overcome 
with fright and sorrow for what he had 
done. He got up, and all his trembling 
lips could say was, Oh, please, I’m so 
sorry; it was the bear as tripped me up. 
I am so very sorry.” 

Even my husband could scarcely keep 
from smiling, the sorrow was so genuine, 
the sense of shame so true. 

There, never mind, Joe,” he said 
kindly; “you must be more careful. 
How run and get a sponge, and do the 
best you can with it.” 


68 


J. Cole. 


After that Joe had the greatest terror 
of that treacherous skin, and I heard him 
telling the parlor-maid about it. 

“ You mind,” he said, or that bear’ll 
ketch ’old of her. I shant’ forget how 
he ketched ’old of my leg that day and 
knocked me over; so you’d better take 
care, and not go nigher than you can 
’elp. He’s always a-lookin’ out to ketch 
yer, but he won’t ’ave me no more, I can 
tell him.” 

This fall of J oe’s made him still more 
nervous of waiting at table, and at last, 
when he had made some very serious 
mistakes, I had to speak to him and tell 
him I was afraid, if he did not soon learn 
to wait better, I must send him away, for 


J. Cole. 


69 


his master was annoyed at the mistakes 
he made, such as pouring port instead of 
sherry, giving cold plates when hot ones 
were required, handing dishes the wrong 
side, etc. 

My little lecture was listened to quiet- 
ly and humbly, and J oe had turned to go 
away, when, to my surprise and distress, 
he suddenly burst into a perfect passion 
of tears and sobs. 

I will try and learn myself,’^ he said, 
as well as his sobs would let him, in- 
deed I will. I know I’m stoopid. I sez 
to myself every time company comes, 
^ I’ll mind wot I’m about, and remember 
dishes left-’anded, pourin’s out right, 
sherry wine’s yeller, and port wine after- 


70 


J. Cole. 


wards with the nuts, grapes, and things; 
and the cruits when there^s fish, and he* 
gin with the strangerest lady next to 
master’s side, and ’Ip missus last.’ I 
knows it all, hut when they’re all sittin’ 
down, and everybody wantin’ somethin’, 
I don’t know if Jane’s a-goin to giv’ it 
^em, or I am; and I gets stoopid, and my 
’ands shakes, and somehow I can’t do 
nothin’; hut please don’t send me away. 
I do like you and the master. I’ll ask 
Jane to learn me better. You see if I 
don’t. Oh, please ’m, say you’ll try 
me!” 

What could I say hut yes,” and for a 
day or two Joe did better, but we were 
a small party, and the waiting was easy; 


J. Cole. 


71 


but shortly we were to have a large din- 
ner-party, and as the time drew near, Joe 
became quite pale and anxious. 

About this time, too, I had been awak- 
ened at night by curious sounds down- 
stairs, as of somebody moving about, and 
once I heard an unmistakable fall of 
some heavy article. 

My husband assured me it was noth- 
ing alarming, and he went down-stairs, 
but could neither hear or see anything 
unusual. All was quiet. 

Another night I felt sure I heard 
sounds downstairs; and in spite of my 
husband’s advice to remain still, I called 
Mrs. Wilson, and entreated her to come 

down to the kitchen-floor with me. It 
6 


Y2 


J. Cole. 


was so very easy, I knew, for anybody 
to enter the house from the back, and 
there being a deep area all around, they 
«ould work away with their tools at the 
ground-floor back windows unseen. Any 
one could get on the top of the stable 
from the mews, drop into the garden, 
and be safe; for the watchman and 
policeman were on duty in the front of 
the house only, the back was quite un- 
protected. True, there were iron bars to 
Joe’s window and the kitchen, but iron 
bars could be sawed through, and I lived 
in dread of burglars. 

This night Mrs. Wilson and I went 
softly down, and as we neared the 
kitchen stairs, I heard a voice say in a 
whisper, ‘‘Make haste!” 


J. Cole. 


n 

** There, Mrs. Wilson, did you hear 
that?” I said. 

^^Xo, ma’am,” she replied; there’s 
somebody talking, and I believe it’s in 
Joe’s room. Let us go up and fetch the 
master.” 

So we returned up-stairs, and soon my 
husband stood with us at the door of 
Joe’s room. 

** Open the door, Joe!” cried my hus- 
band. Who have you got there ? ” 
Xobody, please sir,” said a trembling 
voice. 

"Open the door at once!” said the 
master, and in a moment it was opened. 
Joe stood there very pale, but with no 
sort of fear in his face. There was no- 


H 


J. Cole. 


body in the room, and as Joe had cer- 
tainly been in bed, we concluded he must 
Lave talked in his sleep, and, perhaps, 
walked about also, for what we knew. 

The day before the dinner-party, Cook 
came and told me she felt sure there was 
something wrong with Joe. He was so 
changed from what he used to be; there 
was no getting him to wake in the morn- 
ing, and he seemed so heavy with sleep, 
as if he had no rest at night. Also Cook 
had proofs of his having been in her 
kitchen after he was supposed to have 
gone to bed; chairs were moved, and sev- 
eral things not where she had left them. 
She had asked Joe, and he replied he did 
go into the kitchen, but would not say 
what for. 


J. Cole. 


75 


I did not like to talk to Joe that day, 
so decided to wait till after the dinner, 
and I would then insist on the mystery 
being cleared up. I knew Joe would 
tell the truth; my trust was unshaken, 
although circumstances seemed against 
him. 

That night Mrs. Wilson came to my 
door, and said she was sure Joe was at his 
night-work again, for she could see from 
her bedroom window a light reflected on 
the stable wall, which must be in his 
room. 

How can we find out,” I said, what 
he is doing?” 

That is easily done,” said my hue- 
band. ^^We can go out at the garden- 


76 


J. Cole. 


door, and down the steps leading from 
the garden into the area; they are op- 
posite his window. We can look through 
the Venetian blinds, if they are down, 
and see for ourselves. He won’t be able 
to see us.” 

Accordingly, having first wrapped up 
in our furs, we went down, and were 
soon at Joe’s window, standing in the 
area that surrounded the house. The 
laths of the bind were some of them 
open, and between them we saw distinct- 
ly all over the room. 

At first we could not understand the 
strange sight that met our gaze. 

In the middle of Joe’s room was a 
table, spread with a cloth, and on it sau- 


J. Cole. 


Y7 


eers from flower-pots, placed at intervals 
down each side; before each saucer a 
chair was placed, and in the center of the 
table a high basket, from which a Stil- 
to^ cheese had been unpacked that morn- 
ing, this was evidently to represent a tall 
epergne. On Joe’s washstand were sev- 
eral bottles, a jug, and by each flower- 
pot saucer two vessels of some kind — ^by 
one, two jam-pots of different sizes; by 
another, a broken specimen glass and a 
teacup — and so on; and from chair to 
chair moved Joe, softly but quickly, on 
tiptoe, now with bottles which contained 
water. We could see his lips move, and 
concluded he was saying something 
to imaginary persons, for he would put a 


78 


J. Cole. 


jampot on his trav, and pour into it from 
the bottle, and then replace it. Some- 
times he would go quickly to his bed, 
which we saw represented the dinner- 
wagon, or sideboard, and bring imagin- 
ary dishes from there and hand them. 
Then he would go quickly from chair to 
chair, always correcting himself if he 
went to the wrong side, and talking all 
the time softly to himself. So here was 
the solution of the mystery; here melted 
into air the visions of Joe in league with 
midnight burglars. 

The poor boy, evidently alarmed at 
the prospect of the dinner-party, and 
feeling that he must try to improve in 
waiting at table before that time some- 


J. Cole. 


79 


how, had stolen all those hours nightly 
from his rest, to practice with whatever 
substitutes were at hand for the usual 
table requisites. 

Here every night, when those who had 
worked far less during the day were 
soundly sleeping, had that anxious, striv- 
ing little heart shaken off fatigue, and 
the big blue eyes refused to yield to 
sleep, in order to fight with the nerv- 
ousness that alone prevented his willing 
hands acting with their natural clever- 
ness. I felt a choking in my throat, 
when I saw the thin, pale little face, that 
should have been on the pillow hours be- 
fore, lighted up with triumph as the sup- 
posed guests departed; the dumb show 


80 


J. Cole. 


of folding the dinner napkins belonging 
to myself and the master, and putting 
them in their respective rings, told us the 
ordeal was over. What a weird scene it 
was, — the dim light, the silent house, the 
spread table, and the empty chairs I One 
could imagine ghostly revelers, visible 
only to that one fragile attendant, who 
ministered so willingly to their numer- 
ous wants. The sort of nervous thrill 
that heralds hysterical attacks was rap- 
idly overcoming me, and I whispered to 
my husband, Let us go now;” but he 
lingered a few seconds, and silently drew 
my attention again to the window. 

Joe was on his knees by his bedside, 
his face hidden in his hands. What sil- 


J. Cole. 


81 


ent prayer was ascending to the Throne 
of Grace, who shall say? I only know 
that it were well if many a kneeling wor- 
shipper in purple and fine linen ” could 
feel as sure of being heard as Joe did 
when, his victory won, he knelt, in his 
humble servant’s garb, and said his pray- 
ers that night in spite of the aching head 
and weary limbs that needed so badly the 
few hours’ rest that remained before six 
o’clock, the time Joe always got up. 

Silently we stole away, and in my 
mind from that moment my faith in Joe 
never wavered. Not once, in spite of 
sad events that came to pass later on, 
when even I, his staunchest friend, had 
to recall to memory that kneeling little 


82 


J. Cole. 


form in the silence of the night, alone 
with his God, in order to stifle the cmel 
doubts of his truth that were forced upon 
us all by circumstances I must soon re- 
late. 

The famous dinner passed off well. 
Joe was splendid; his midnight practice 
had brought its reward, and he moved 
about so swiftly, and anticipated every- 
body’s wants so well, that some of my 
friends asked me where I got such a 
treasure of a page; he must have had a 
good butler or footman to teach him, 
they said; he is evidently used to waiting 
on many guests. I was proud of Joe. 

The next day he came to me with 
more than a sovereign in silver, and told 


J. Cole. 


83 


me the gentlemen had been so very kind 
to him, and a ’most everyone had given 
him somethin’ tho’ he never arst, or 
waited about, as some fellers did, as if 
they wouldn’t lose sight of a gent till he 
paid ’em. But,” said Joe, they would 
giv’ it me; and one gent, he follered me 
right up the passage, he did, and sez, 
‘ ’Ere, you small boy,’ he sez, and he give 
me a whole ’arf-crown. Whatever for, 
I don’t know.” 

But I knew that must have been Dr. 
Loring, a celebrated physician, and my 
husband’s dearest friend. We had told 
him about Joe’s midnight self-teaching, 
and he had been much interested in the 
story. 


84 


J, Cole. 


You little thought, Joe, the hand that 
patted your curly head so kindly that 
night would one day hold your small 
wrist, and count its feeble life-pulse beat- 
ing slowly and yet more slowly, while 
we, who loved you, should watch the 
clever, handsome face, trying in vain to 
read there the blessed word ** Hope.’’ 


CHAPTEK IV. 

And now I must confess to those — for 
surely there will be a few — who have felt 
a little interest, so far, in the fortunes of 
J. Cole, that a period in my story has ar- 
rived when I would fain lay down my 
pen, and not awaken the sleeping past, 
to recall the sad trouble that befell him. 

I am almost an old woman now, and 
all this happened many years ago, when 
my hair was golden instead of silver. I 
was younger in those days, and now 
am peacefully and hopefully waiting 
God’s good time for my summons. 
Troubles have been my lot, many and 

85 


86 


J. Cole. 


hard to bear. Loss of husband, children, 
dear, good friends, many by death, and 
some troubles harder even than those, 
the loss of trust, and bitter awakening to 
the ingratitude and worthlessness of 
those in whom I have trusted, — all these 
I have endured. Yet time and trouble 
have not sufficiently hardened my heart 
that I can write of what follows without 
pain. 

Christmas was over, and my dear hus- 
band again away for some months. As 
soon as I could really say, Spring is 
here,” we were to leave London for our 
country home; and Joe was constantly 
talking to Mrs. Wilson about his various 
pets, left behind in the gardener’s care. 


J. Cole. 


87 


There was an old jackdaw, an especial 
favorite of his, a miserable owl, too, who 
had met with an accident, resulting in 
the loss of an eye; a more evil-looking 
object than Cyclops,” as my husband 
christened him, I never saw. Some- 
times on a dark night this one eye would 
gleam luridly from out the shadowy re- 
cesses of the garden, and an unearthly 
cry of Hoo-oo-ot,” fall on the ear, 
enough to give one the creeps for an 
hour,” as Mary, the housemaid, said. 
But Joe loved Cyclops, or rather 
“ Cloppy,” as he called him; and the bird 
hopped after J oe about the garden, as if 
he quite returned the feeling. 

All our own dogs, and two or three 
6 


88 


J. Cole. 


maimed ones, and a cat or two, more or 
less hideous, and indebted to Joe’s mercy 
in rescuing them from traps, snares, etc., 
— all these creatures were Joe’s delight. 
Each week the gardener’s boy wrote a 
few words to Joe of their health and 
wonderful doings, and each week Joe 
faithfully sent a shilling, to be laid out 
in food for them. Then there was J oe’s 
especial garden, also a sort of hospital, 
or convalescent home rather, where 
many blighted, unhealthy-looking plants 
and shrubs, discarded by the gardener, 
and cast aside to be burnt on the weed- 
heap, had been rescued by Joe, patiently 
nursed and petted as it were into life 
again by constant care and watching, 


J. Cole. 


89 


and, after being kept in pots a while, till 
they showed, by sending forth some tiny 
shoot or bud, that the sap of life was once 
more circulating freely, were then plant- 
ed in the sheltered corner he called his 
own.” 

What treasures awaited him in this 
small square of earth. What bunches of 
violets he would gather for the Missis; 
and his longing to get back to his various 
pets, and his garden, was the topic of con- 
versation on many a long evening be- 
tween Joe and Mrs. Wilsor 

Little Bogie, the fox-terrier, was the 
only dog we had with us in town, and 
Bogie hated London. After the quiet 
country life, the incessant roll of car- 


90 


J. Cole. 


riages, tramping of horses, and callings 
of coachmen, shrill cab-whistles, and all 
the noises of a fashionable neighborhood 
at night during a London season, were 
most objectionable to Bogie; he could 
not rest, and often Joe got out of bed 
in the night, and took him in his arms, 
to prevent his waking all of us with his 
shrill barking at the unwonted sounds. 

As I have said before, I am very nerv- 
ous, and the prospect of spending several 
more weeks in the big London house, 
without my husband, was far from pleas- 
ant; so I invited my widowed sister and 
her girls to stay with me some time 
longer, and made up my mind to banish 
my fears, and think of nothing but that 


J. Cole. 


91 


the dark nights would be getting shorter 
and shorter, and meanwhile our house 
was well protected, as far as good strong 
bolts and chains could do so. 

One night I felt more nervous than 
usual. I had expected a letter from 
America for some days past, and none 
had arrived. On this evening I knew 
the mail was due, and I waited anxiously 
for the last ring of the postman at ten 
o’clock; but I was doomed to listen in 
vain. There was the sharp, loud ring 
next door, but not at ours; and I went to 
my room earlier than the others, really 
to give way to a few tears that I could 
not control. 

I sat by my bedroom fire, thinking, 


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J. Cole. 


and, I am afraid, conjuring up all sorts 
of terrible reason's for my dear husband’s 
silence, until I must have fallen asleep, 
for I woke chilly and cramped from the 
uncomfortable posture I had slept in. 
The fire was out, and the house was as 
silent as the grave; not even a carriage 
passing to take up some late guest. I 
looked at the clock, half-past three, and 
then from my window. It was that 
darkest hour before dawn,” and I hur- 
ried into bed, and endeavored to sleep; 
but no, I was hopelessly wide awake. 
No amount of counting, or mental exer- 
cise on the subject of sheep going 
through a hedge,” had any effect, and I 
found myself lying awake, listening. 


J. Cole. 


93 


Yes, I knew that I was listening for 
something that I should hear before long, 
but I did not hnow what. 

^^Hark! what was that?” — a sudden 
thud, as if something had fallen some- 
where in the house; then silence, except 
for the loud beating of my heart, that 
threatened to suffocate me. “ iTon- 
sense,” I said to myself, I am foolishly 
nervous to-night. It is nothing here, or 
Bogie would bark;” so I tried again to 
sleep. Hush! Surely that was a foot- 
step going up or down the stairs! I 
could not endure the agony of being 
alone any longer, but would go to my 
sister’s room, just across the landing, and 
get her to come and stay the rest of the 


94 


J. Cole. 


night with me. I put on my slippers 
and dressing-gown, and opening my 
door, came face to face with my sister, 
who was coming to me. 

Let me come in,’’ she said, and 
don’t let us alarm the girls; but I feel 
certain something is going on downstairs. 
Bogie barked furiously an hour ago and 
then was suddenly silent.” 

“ That must have been when I was 
asleep,” I replied; ^^but no doubt Joe 
heard him, and has taken him in.” 

That may be,” said my sister, “ but 
I have kept, on hearing queer noises at 
the back of the house; they seemed in 
Joe’s room at first. Come and listen 
yourself on the stairs.” 


J. Cole. 


95 


It is strange, but true, that many per- 
sons, horribly nervous at the thought of 
danger, find all their presence of mind 
in full force when actually called upon 
to face it. So it is with me, and so it 
was on that night. I stood on the land- 
ing and listened, and in a few moments 
heard mufiled sounds down-stairs, like 
persons moving about stealthily. 

There is certainly somebody down 
there, iN^elly,’^ I said to my sister, and 
they are down in the basement. If we 
could creep down quietly and get into 
the drawing-room, we might open the 
window and call the watchman or police- 
man; both are on duty until seven.^^ 

But think,” said my sister, of the 


96 


J. Cole. 


fright of the girls if they hear us, and 
find they are left alone. The servants, 
too, will scream, and rush about, as they 
always do. Let us go down and make 
sure there are thieves, and then see what 
is best to be done. The door at the top 
of the kitchen stairs is locked, so they 
must be down there; and perhaps if we 
could get the watchman to come in 
quietly, we might catch them in a trap, 
by letting him through the drawing- 
room, and into the conservatory. He 
could get into the garden from there, and 
as they must have got in that way from 
the mews, or over the stable wall, and 
through the garden, they would try to 
escape the same way, and the watchman 


J. Cole. 


97 


would be waiting for them, and cut off 
tbeir retreat.^’ 

I agreed, and we stole downstairs into 
the drawing-room, where we locked our- 
selves in, then very gently and carefully 
drew up one of the side blinds of the bay 
window. The morning had begun to 
break, and everything in the wide road 
was distinctly visible. In the distance I 
could see the policeman on duty, but on 
the opposite side, and going away from 
our house instead of towards it. He 
would turn the comer at the top of the 
road, and go past the houses parallel with 
the backs of our row, and then appear at 
the opposite end of the park, and come 
along our side; there was no intermediate 


98 


J. Cole. 


turning — nothing but an unbroken row 
of about forty detached houses facing 
each other. 

What could we do? I dared not wait 
until the policeman came back; quite 
twenty minutes must pass before then, 
and day being so near at hand, the light 
was increasing every moment, and the 
burglars would surely not leave without 
visiting the drawing-room and dining- 
room, and would perhaps murder us to 
save themselves from detection. 

If I could only attract the policeman^s 
attention, but how? 

My sister was close to the door listen- 
ing, and every instant we dreaded hear- 
ing them coming up the kitchen stairB. 


J. Cole. 


99 


I could not understand Bogie not bark- 
ing, and Joe not waking, for where I 
was I could distinctly bear the men 
moving about in the pantry and kitchen. 

“ I wonder,’’ I said to my sister, “ if 
I could put something across from this 
balcony to the stonework by the front 
steps? It seems such a little distance, 
and if I could step across, I could open 
the front gate in an instant, and run 
after the policeman. I shall try.” 

" You will fall and kill yourself,” my 
sister said ; “ the space is much wider 
than you think.” 

But I was determined to try; for if I 
let that policeman go out of sight, what 
horrors might happen in the twenty 


100 


J. Cole. 


minutes before he would come back. 
The idea of one of the girls waking and 
calling out, or Joe waking and being 
shot or stabbed, gave me a feeling of 
desperation, as though I alone could and 
must save them. 

Luckily the house was splendidly 
built, every window-sash sliding noise- 
lessly and easily in its groove. I opened 
the one nearest to the hall door steps 
and saw that the stone ledge abutted to 
within about two feet of the low balcony 
of the window; but I was too nervous to 
trust myself to spring across even that 
distance. At that moment my sister 
whispered : 

I hear somebody coming up the 
kitchen stairs!^’ 


J. Cole. 


101 


Desperately I cast my eyes around the 
room for something to bridge the open 
space, that would bear my weight, if 
only for a moment. The fender-stool 
caught my eye; that might do, it was 
strong, and more than long enough. In 
an instant we had it across, and I was 
out of the window and down the front 
steps. 

As I turned the handle of the heavy 
iron gate, I looked down at the front 
kitchen window. A man stood in the 
kitchen, and he looked up and saw me 
— such a horrible looking ruffian, too. 
Fear lent wings to my feet, and I flew 
up the road. The watchman was just 
entering the park from the opposite end ; 


102 


J. Cole. 


he saw me, and sounded his whistle; the 
policeman turned and ran towards me. 
I was too exhausted to speak, and he 
caught me, just as, having gasped 
Thieves at 50!^’ (the number of our 
house), I fell forward in a dead swoon. 

When I recovered, I was lying on my 
own bed, my sister, the scared servants, 
and the policeman, all around me. From 
them I heard that directly the man in the 
kitchen caught sight of me, he warned 
his companion, who was busy forcing 
the lock of the door at the head of the 
kitchen stairs, and my sister heard them 
both rushing across the garden, where 
they had a ladder against the stable 
wall. They must have pulled this up 


J. Cole. 


103 


after them, and tossed it into the next 
garden, where it was found, to delay 
pursuit. The park-keeper had, after 
sounding his whistle, rushed to our 
house, got in at the window, and ran to 
the door at the top of the kitchen stairs, 
but it was quite impossible to open it; 
the burglars had cleverly left something 
in the lock when disturbed, and the key 
would not turn. He then went through 
the drawing-room into the conservatory, 
where a glass door opened on the gar- 
den; but by the time the heavy sliding 
glass panel was unfastened, and the 
inner door unbolted, the men had disap- 
peared. They took with them much less 
than they hoped to have done, for there 
7 


104 


J. Cole. 


were parcels and packets of spoons, forks, 
and a case of very handsome gold salt- 
cellars, a marriage gift, always kept in a 
baize lined chest in the pantry, the key 
of which I retained, and which chest was 
supposed until now to be proof against 
burglars; the lock had been burnt all 
round with some instrument, most likely 
a poker heated in the gas, and then 
forced inwards from the burnt wood- 
work . 

‘^How was it,’^ I asked, Joe did not 
wake during all this, or Bogie bark?^^ 

As I asked the question, I noticed 
that my sister turned away; and Mrs. 
Wilson, after vainly endeavoring to look 
unconcerned, threw her apron suddenly 
over her head, and burst out crying. 


J. Cole. 


105 


"What is the matter?’’ I said, sitting 
up; "what are you all hiding from me? 
Send Joe to me; I will learn the truth 
from him.” 

At this the policeman came forward, 
and then I heard that Joe was missing, 
his room was in great disorder, and one 
of his shoes, evidently dropped in his 
hurry, had been found- in the garden, 
near some spoons thrown down by the 
thieves; his clothes were gone, so he evi- 
dently had dressed himself after pretend- 
ing to go to bed as usual; his blankets 
and sheets were taken away, used no 
doubt, the policeman said, to wrap up 
the stolen things. 

"Is it possible,” I asked, "that you 


106 


J. Cole. 


suspect J oe is in league with these burg- 
lars 

Well, mum,^^ said the man, ^ it 
looks queer, and very like it. He slept 
down-stairs close to the very door where 
they got in; he never gives no alarm, he 
must have been expecting something, or 
else why was he dressed? And how did 
this shoe come in the garden? And 
what’s more to the point, if so he as he’s 
innocent, where is he? These young 
rascals is that artful, you’d be surprised 
to know the dodges they’re up to.” 

“ But,” I interrupted, it is impos- 
sible, it is cruel to suspect him. He is 
gone, true enough, but I’m sure he will 
come back. Perhaps he ran after the 


J. Cole. 


107 


men to try and catch them, and dropped 
his shoe then.’’ 

^‘That’s not likely, mum,” said he, 
with a pitying smile at my ignorance of 
circumstantial evidence; ^‘he’d have 
called out to stop ’em, and it ’aint likely 
they’d have let him get up their ladder, 
afore chucking of it into the next gar- 
den, if so he as he was a-chasing of ’em to 
get ’em took. ]^o, mar’m; I’m very 
sorry, particular as you seem so kindly 
disposed; but, in my humble opinion, 
he’s a artful young dodger, and this ’ere 
job has been planned ever so long, and 
he’s connived at it, and has hooked it 
along with his pals. I knows ’em, but 
we’ll soon nab him; and if so be as you’ll 


108 


J. Cole. 


be so kind as to let me take down in 
writin^ all you knows about ‘ J. Cole/ 
which is his name, I’m informed, where 
you took him from, his character, and 
previous career, it will help considerable 
in laying hands on him; and when he’s 
found we’ll soon find his pals.” 

Of course I told all I knew about Joe. 
I felt positive he would come back, per- 
haps in a few minutes, to explain every- 
thing. Besides, there was Bogie, too. 
Why should he take Bogie? The police- 
man suggested that perhaps the dawg 
foller’d him, and he had taken it along 
with him, to prevent being traced by its 
means.” 

At length, all this questioning being 


J. Cole. 


109 


over, the household settled down into a 
sort of strange calm. It seemed to us 
days since we had said ^‘Good-night,” and 
sought our rooms on that night, and yet 
it was only twenty-four hours ago; in that 
short time how much had taken place! 
On going over all the plate, etc., we 
missed many more things; and Mrs. Wil- 
son, whose faith in Joe’s honesty never 
wavered, began to think the poor boy 
might have been frightened at having 
slept through the robbery; and as he was 
so proud of having the plate used every 
day in his charge, when he discovered it 
had been stolen, he might have feared 
we should blame him so much for it, 
that he had run away home to his people 


110 


J. Cole. 


in his fright, meaning to ask his father, 
or his adored Dick, to return to me and 
plead for him. I thought, too, this was 
possible, for I knew how terribly he 
would reproach himself for letting any- 
thing in his care be stolen. I therefore 
made up my mind to telegraph to his 
father at once; but, not to alarm him, I 
said : — 

“ Is Joe with you? Have you reason 
to think he has gone home. Answer 
back.” 

The answer came some hours after, 
for in those small villages communica- 
tion was difficult. The reply ran thus: 

" — ^We have not seen Joe; if he comes 
to-night will write at once. Hoping 
there is nothing wrong.” 


J. Cole. 


Ill 


So the surmise was a mistake, for Joe 
had money, and would go by train if he 
went home, and be there in two hours. 

All the household sat up nearly all 
that night, or rested uncomfortably on 
sofas and armchairs; we felt too un- 
settled to go to bed, though worn out 
with suspense, and the previous excite- 
ment and fright. Officials and de- 
tectives came and went during the even- 
ing, and looked about for traces of the 
robbers, and before night a description 
of the stolen things, and a most minute 
one of Joe, were posted outside the 
police-stations, and all round London 
for miles. A reward of twenty pounds 
was offered for Joe, and my heart ached 


112 


J. Cole. 


to know there was a hue and cry after 
him like a common thief. 

What would the old parents think ? 
and how would Dick feel? — Dick whose 
good counsels and careful training had 
made Joe what I knew he was, in spite 
of every suspicion. 

The next day I felt sure he would 
come, and I went down into the room 
where he used to sleep, and saw Mrs. 
Wilson had put all in order, and fresh 
blankets and sheets were on the little 
bed, all ready for him. So many things 
put me in mind of the loving, gentle dis- 
position. A little flower-vase I valued 
very much had been broken by Bogie 
romping with one of my nieces, and 


J. Cole. 


113 


knocking it down. It was broken to 
more than twenty pieces; and after I 
had plentily tried to mend it myself, and 
my nieces, with still greater patience, 
had had their turn at it, we had given 
it up as a bad job, and thought it had 
long ago gone onto the dust-heap. 

There were some shelves on the wall 
of Joe’s room where his treasures were 
kept; and on one of these shelves, cov- 
ered with an old white handkerchief, 
was a little tray containing the vase, a 
bottle of cement, and a camel’s hair 
brush. The mending was finished, all 
but two or three of the smallest pieces, 
and beautifully done; it must have taken 
time, and an amount of patience that put 


114 


J. Cole. 


iny efforts and those of the girls to 
shame; hut Joe’s was a labor of Love, 
and did not weary him. He would 
probably have put it in its usual place 
one morning, when mended, and said 
nothing about it until I found it out, 
and then confessed, in his own queer 
way, ‘^Please, I knew you was sorry it 
was broke, so I mended it;” then he 
would have hurried away, flushed with 
pleasure at my few words of thanks and 
praise. 

On the mantlepiece were more of J oe’s 
treasures, four or five cheap photographs, 
the subjects quite characteristic of Joe. 
One of them was a religious subject, 
" The Shepherd with a little lamb on his 


J. Cole. 


115 


shoulders/^ A silent prayer went up 
from my heart that somewhere that 
same Good Shepherd was finding lost 
J oe, and bringing him safely back to ns. 

There were some pebbles he had 
picked up during a memorable trip to 
Margate with Dick, a year before I saw 
him; which pebbles he firmly believed 
were real aggits,” and had promised to 
have them polished soon and made into 
brooch and earrings for Mrs. Wilson, 

There was a very old-fashioned pho- 
tograph of myself that I had torn in half 
and thrown into the waste-paper basket. 
I saw this had been carefully joined to- 
gether and enclosed in a cheap frame — 
the only one that could boast of being so 


116 


J. Cole. 


preserved. I suppose Joe could only 
afford one frame, and his sense of the 
fitness of things made him choose the 
Missis’s picture to be first honored. 

How sad I felt looking round the 
room! People may smile at my feel- 
ing so sad and concerned about a ser- 
vant — a common, low-born page-boy. 
Ay, smile on, if you will, but tell me, 
my friend, can you say, if you were in 
Joe’s position at that time, with circum- 
stantial evidence so strong against you, 
poor and lowly as he was, are there four 
or five, or even two or three of your 
friends who would believe in you, stand 
up for you, and trust you, in spite of ail, 
as we did for Joe? 


J. Cole. 


iir 


I had gone np to mj sitting-room, 
after telling Mary to light the fire in 
poor Joe^s room, and let it look warm 
and cosey; for I had some sort of pre- 
sentiment that I should see the poor boy 
again very soon — how, I knew not, but 
I have all my life been subject to spirit- 
ual influences, and have seldom been 
mistaken in them. 

We were all thinking of going early to 
rest, for since the robbery- none of us had 
had any real sleep. Suddenly the front 
door bell rang timidly, as if the visitor 
were not quite sure of its being right 
to pull the handle. 

Perhaps that’s J oe,” said my sister. 

But I know Joe would not ring that 
bell. 


118 


J. Cole. 


We heard Mary open the door, and a 
man’s voice ask if Mr. Aylmer lived 
there. 

“Yes,” said Mary, “hut he’s abroad; 
but you can see Mrs. Aylmer.” 

Then came a low murmuring of 
voices, and Mary came in saying: — 

“ Oh, ma’am, it’s Dick, Joe’s brother; 
and he says may he see you?” 

“ Send him in here at once,” I replied. 

And in a moment Dick stood before 
me — Dick, Joe’s beau-ideal of all that 
was good, noble and to be admired. I 
must say the mind-picture I had formed 
of Dick was totally unlike the reality. 
I had expected to see a sunburnt, big 
fellow, with broad shoulders and ex- 
pressive features. 


J. Cole. 


119 


The real Dick was a thin, delicate- 
looking young man, with a pale face, 
and black straight hair. He stood with 
his hat in his hand, looking down as if 
afraid to speak. 

Oh, pray come in,’^ I cried, going 
forward to meet him. “ I know who you 
are. Oh, have you brought me any 
news of poor Joe? We are all his friends 
here, his true friends, and you must let 
us be yours too in this trouble. Have 
you seen him?’’ 

At my words the bowed head was 
lifted up, and then I saw Dick’s face as 
it was. If ever truth, honor, and gen- 
erosity looked out from the windows of 
a soul, they looked out of those large 
8 


120 


J. Cole. 


blue eyes of Dick^s — eyes so exactly li^»^ 
Joe’s in expression that the black lashes 
instead of the fair ones seemed wrong 
somehow. 

God bless you, lady, for them 
words,” said Dick; and before I could 
prevent it, he had knelt at my feet, 
caught my hand and pressed it to his 
lips, while wild sobs broke from him. 

‘‘Forgive me,” he said, rising to his 
feet, and leaning with one hand on the 
back of a chair, his whole frame shaking 
with emotion. “ Forgive me for givin’ 
way like this; but I’ve seen them papers 
about our Joe, and I know what’s being 
thought of him, and I’ve come here 
ashamed to see you, thinkin’ you be- 


J. Cole. 


121 


Meved as the rest do, that Joe robbed 
you after all your goodness to him. 
Why, lady, I tell you, rather than Td 
believe that of my little lad as I thrashed 
till my heart almost broke to hear him 
sob, for the only lie as he ever told in 
all his life; if I could believe it. I’d take 
father’s old gun and end my life, for I’d 
be a beast, not fit to live any longer. 
And I thought you doubted him too; 
but now I hear you say you’re his friend, 
and believes in him, and don’t think he 
robbed you, I know now there’s good 
folks in the world, and there’s mercy and 
justice, and it ain’t all wrong, as I’d 
come a’most to think as it was, when I 
first know’d about this ’ere.” 


122 


J. Cole. 


Sit down, Dick,’^ I said, and re- 
cover yourself, and let us see what can 
be done. I will tell you all that has 
happened, and then perhaps you can 
throw some light on Joe’s conduct — ^you 
who Imow him so well.” 

Dick sat down, and shading his eyes 
with his hand that his tears might not 
betray his weakness any more, he lis- 
tened quietly while I went over the 
events of that dreadful night. 

When I had finished, Dick sat for 
some moments quite silent, then with a 
weary gesture, passing his hand across 
his forehead, he remarked sadly: — 

can’t make nothing of it; it’s a 
thing beyond my understanding. I’m 


J. Cole. 


123 


that dazed like, I can’t see nothin’ 
straight. However, what I’ve got to do 
is to find Joe, and that I mean to do; 
if he’s alive I’ll find him, and then let 
him speak for hisself. I don’t believe 
he’s done nothing wrong, but if he has 
done ever so little or ever so much, he’ll 
* own up to it whatever it is/ that’s what 
Joe’ll do. I told him to lay by them 
words and hold to ’em, and I’ll lay my 
life he’ll do as I told him. I’ve got a 
bed down Marleybone way, at my aunt’s 
what’s married to a policeman; I’m to 
stay there, and I’ll have a talk with ’em 
about this and get some advice. I know 
Joe’s innercent, and why don’t he come 
and say so? But I’ll find him,” 


124 


J. Cole. 


I inquired about tbe old people, and 
how they bore their trial. 

'^Father^s a’most beside hisself/^ said 
Dick; and only that he^s got to keep 
mother in the dark about this, heM have 
come with me; but mother, she’s a’bed 
with rheumatics, and doctor told father 
her heart was weak-like, and she musn’t 
be told, or it would p’raps kill her. She 
thinks a deal of Joe, does mother, being 
the youngest, and always such a sort of 
lovin’ little chap he were.” And here 
Dick’s voice broke again, and I made 
him go down to Mrs. Wilson, and have 
some refreshments before leaving, and 
he promised to see me again the first 
thing in the morning, when he had 
talked to his friend, the policeman. 


J. Cole. 


125 


Scarcely had Dick gone, when a loud, 
and this time firm ring, announced an- 
other visitor, and in a cab, too, I could 
hear. Evidently there was no going to 
rest early that night, as ten o^clock was 
then striking. 

Soon, to my surprise, I heard a well- 
known voice, and Mary announced Dr. 
Loring, my husband’s old friend, of 
whom I have already spoken. 

^^Well, my dear,” he cried, in his 
pleasant, cheerful voice, that in itself 
seemed to lift some of the heaviness 
from my heart, are you not astonished 
to see me at such an hour?” 

^Astonished, certainly,” I replied; 
but very, very glad. You are always 


126 


J. Cole. 


welcome; and more than ever now, when 
we are in trouble and sorrow. Do sit 
down, and stay with me awhile.’’ 

Yes, I will, for an hour, gladly,” he 
said. “But there’s something outside 
that had better be brought in first. You 
know I’ve only just arrived from Devon- 
shire, and there are two barrels of Dev- 
onshire apples on that cab, one for you, 
and one for the wife; that is why you 
see me here, for I thought it would not 
be ten minutes' out of my road to pass 
by here, and leave them with you, and 
so save the trouble of sending them by 
carrier to-morrow.” 

I rang for Mary, and the doctor sug- 
gested the apples being put somewhere 


J. Cole. 


127 


where the smell of them could not pene- 
trate upstairs; for, as he truly remarked, 
Though a fine ripe pippin is delicious 
to eat at breakfast or luncheon, the smell 
of them shut up in a house is horrible.^^ 
dare say Mrs. Wilson will find a 
place in the basement,’^ I said ; “ for we 
donT use half the room there down 
there.’^ 

Having ordered the barrel to be 
stowed away, 1 soon settled my visitor 
comfortably in an armchair by the fire, 
with a cup of his favorite cocoa by his 
side. 

And now, my dear,’^ said he, tell 
me about this burglary that has taken 
place, and which has made you look as 


128 


J. Cole. 


if you wanted me to take care of you 
awhile, and bring back some color to 
your pale cheeks. And what about this 
boy? Is it the same queer little fellow 
who chose midnight to play his pranks 
in once before? I’m not often deceived 
in a face, and I thought this was an 
honest one. I ” — 

' So it was,” I interrupted; don’t say 
a word until I’ve told you all, and you 
will 

I had scarcely begun speaking, when 
a succession of the most fearful screams 
arose from downstairs, each rising louder 
and louder, in the extreme of terror. 
My sister, who had gone to her room, 
rushed down to me; the girls, in their 


J. Cole. 


129 


dressing-gowns, just as they were pre- 
paring for bed, followed, calling out, 
‘^Auntie! 0 Auntie! wbat is it? Who 
is screaming? What can be the mat- 
ter? Hardly were they in the room 
when Mary rushed in, ghastly, her eyes 
staring, and in a voice hoarse with ter- 
ror, gasi)ed out, ^^Come! come! he^a 
found ! he’s murdered ! I saw him. He’s 
lying in the cellar, with his throat cut. 
Oh, it’s horrible!” Then she began to 
scream again. 

The doctor tried to hold me back, but 
I broke from him, and ran dowstairs, 
where I could find no one; all was dark 
in the kitchens, but there was a light in 
the area, and I was soon there, followed 
by Dr. Loring. 


130 


J. Cole. 


By the open cellar-door stood Mrs. 
Wilson, and the cabman with her. 
Directly she saw me, she called out, 
Oh, dear mistress, don’t you come 
here; it’s not a sight for you. Take her 
away. Dr. Loring, she musn’t see it.” 

^^What is it?” I cried; ^^Mary says 
it’s ” — I could not say the words, but 
seizing the candle from Mrs. Wilson’s 
hand, I went into the cellar. 

The good doctor was close to me, with 
more light, by the aid of which we be- 
held, in the far comer, facing us, what 
seemed to be a bundle of blankets from 
which protruded a head, a horrible red 
stream surrounding it, and flowing, as it 
were, from the open mouth. One second 


J. Cole. 


131 


brought me close. It was Joe — Joe, 
with his poor limbs bound with cruel 
ropes, and in his mouth for a gag they 
had forced one of those bright red socks 
he would always wear. Thank God, it 
was only that red sock, and not the hor- 
rible red stream I had feared. He was 
dead, of course; but not such a fearful 
death as that. 

The doctor soon pulled the horrid gag 
from his mouth, and the good-natured 
cabman, who evidently felt for us, 
helped to cut the ropes, and lift up the 
poor cold little form. 

As they lifted him, something that 
was in the blankets fell heavily to the 
ground. It was poor Bogie’s dead body. 


132 


J. Cole. 


stabbed in many places, each wound 
enough to have let out the poor dumb 
creature^s life. 

By this time help had arrived, and 
once more the police took possession of 
us, as it were. 

Of course, now everything was ex- 
plained. The burglars had evidently 
entered Joe^s room, and Bogie, being in 
his arms, had barked, and wakened him. 
A few blows had soon silenced poor 
Bogie, and a gag and cords had done the 
same for Joe. 

When the man saw me from the 
kitchen window he must have known 
that help would come soon, and to pre- 
vent J oe from giving an alarm 
they had hastily seized him, bed-clothes 


J. Cole. 


133 


and all, and put him into that cellar, to 
starve if he were not discovered. 

Perhaps they did not really mean to 
kill the poor child, and if we had been in 
the habit of using that cellar we might 
have found him in a few hours or less; 
but, unfortunately, it was a place we 
never used; it reached far under the 
street, and was too large for our use. 
Our coal cellar was a much smaller one, 
inside the scullery; the door of poor 
Joe^s prison closed with a common latch. 

Had there been any doubt in the de- 
tective^s mind as to Joe^s guilt, he might 
have taken more trouble and searched 
for him, even there; but from the first 
everybody but ourselves had been sure 


134 


J. Cole. 


Joe had escaped with the burglars, so 
the cellar remained unsearched. 

Mrs. Wilson, wishing to spare me the 
smell of the apples, thought that cellar, 
being outside the house, a very suitable 
place for them, and on opening the door 
had caught sight of something in the 
distant corner, and sent Mary to see 
what it was. Then arose those fearful 
shrieks we had heard, and Mary had 
rushed out of the cellar half mad with 
fright. 

In less time than it has taken me to 
relate this, Joe was laid on the rug be- 
fore the drawing-room fire, and I sum- 
moned courage to look on the changed 
face. 


J. Cole. 


135 


Could that be J oe — so white, so 
drawn, so still 

Dr. Loring was kneeling by the little 
form, chafing and straightening the poor 
stiff etned arms, so bent with their cruel 
pinioning behind the shoulders. 

“ Doctor,” I said, “ why do you do 
any more? Xothing can bring back the 
poor fellow, murdered while doing his 
duty.” Then I, too, knelt down, and 
took the poor cold hands in mine. 

Oh, my poor child!” I cried, ^^my 
little brave heart; who dared say you 
were false? Let those who doubted you 
look at you now, with dry eyes, if they 
can.” 

“ My dear,” said Dr. Loring, sud- 


9 


136 


J. Cole. 


denly, ^‘have you always hot water in 
your bath-room 

Yes, doctor, I said; yes. Why do 
you ask? Do you mean — is it possible — 
there is life?’^ And I took Joe^s little 
head in my arms, and forgot he was only 
a servant, only a poor, common little 
page-boy. I only know I pressed him to 
my breast, and called him by all the en- 
dearing names I used to call my own 
children in after years, when God gave 
me some, and kissed his white forehead 
in my joy at the blessed ray of hope. 

No want of willing arms to carry Joe 
up-stairs. Mrs. Wilson had the bath 
filled before the doctor was in the room 
with his light burden. 


J. Cole. 


137 


** A few drops of brandy, to moisten 
the lips, first of all,” said tbe doctor, 
then the bath and gentle friction; 
there is certainly life in him.” 

hTow my good sister’s clever nursing 
proved invaluable. All that night we 
fought every inch of ground, as it were, 
with our grim enemy; the dear, good 
doctor never relaxed in his efforts to 
bring back life to the cramped limbs. 
The burglars had unknowingly helped 
to keep alight Joe’s feeble spark of life 
by wrapping the blankets round him; 
they had meant, no doubt, to stifle any 
sound he might make; but by keeping 
him from actual contact with the stone 
floor, and protecting him from the cold. 


138 


J. Cole. 


they had given him his little chance of 
life. 

Oh, how I blessed that kind thought 
of Dr. Loring^s to bring me a barrel of 
apples! Had there been no occasion to 
open the cellar-door, Joe would have 
died before another morning had 
dawned— died! starved! What a horrible 
death! And to know that within a few 
steps were food, warmth and kind hearts 
— hearts even then saddened by his ab- 
sence and grieving for him. What hours 
of agony he must have passed in the cold 
and darkness, hearing the footsteps of 
passers-by above his living tomb, and 
feeling the pangs of hunger and thirst. 
What weeks those three days must have 


J. Cole. 


139 


been to him in their fearful darkness, 
until insensibility mercifully came to his 
aid, and hushed his senses to oblivion. 

Morning was far advanced when, at 
last, Joe’s eyelids began to flutter, and 
his eyes opened a very little, to close 
again immediately; even the subdued 
light we had let into the room being too 
much for him to bear after so long a 
darkness; but in that brief glance he had 
recognized me, and seeing his lips move, 
I bent my head close to them. 

Only a faint murmuring came, but I 
distinguished the words: 

Missis, I couldn’t ’elp it! Forgive 
me. Say ^ Our Father.’ ” 

I knelt down, and as well as I could 


140 


J. Cole. 


for the tears that almost choked me, 
repeated that most simple, yet all-satis- 
fying petition to the Throne of Grace. 

Meanwhile the doctor held Joe^s wrist, 
and my sister, at a sign from him, put a 
few drops of nourishment between the 
pale lips. 

My dear,” at length said the doctor, 
^^did you say the boy’s brother was in 
London?” 

Yes,” I replied, but I have no ad- 
dress, as I expect him here this mom- 
ing.” 

That is well; he may be in time.” 

‘^In time?” I repeated; ‘‘in time for 
what? Is he dying? Can nothing be 
done?” 


J. Cole. 


141 


The good doctor looked again with 
moistened eyes on the little white face, 
and said sadly — 

I fear not, but the sight of this 
brother he seems to have such a strong 
love for may rouse him for a while. As 
it is, he is sinking fast. I can do no 
more. He is beyond human skill; but 
love and God’s help may yet save him. 
Poor little fellow, he has done his duty 
nobly, and even to die doing that is an 
enviable fate; but we want such boys as 
this to live, and show others the way.” 

There was a slight sound at the romn 
door, and on turning round I saw Dick 
' — Dick with wild, dumb entreaty in his 




142 


J. Cole. 


I pointed to the bed, and with a whis- 
pered “ Hush!’’ beckoned him to enter. 

The shock of seeing his loved little 
lad so changed was too much for even his 
man’s courage, for, with a cry he in vain 
strove to smother, he sunk on his knees 
with his face hidden in his hands. 

But only for a moment he let his grief 
overcome him ; then, rising, he took 
Joe’s little form in his arms, and in a 
voice to which love gave the softest and 
gentlest tones said: — 

^‘Joe, lad! Joe, little chap! here’s 
Dick. Look at poor old Dick. Don’t 
you know him? Don’t go away without 
sayin’ good-by to Dick wot loves you.” 
Slowly a little fluttering smile parted 


J. Cole. 


143 


the lips, and the blue eyes unclosed once 
more. ^^Dick!’’ he gasped; "I wanted 
to tell you, Dick, but — I — canH. I — 
ain’t — forgot. ^ Own — up — to — it — 

wotever’ — I minded it all. Kiss me — 
Dick. God — bless — missis. Dick — 
take me — home — to — mother!” 

And with a gentle sigh, in the arms of 
the brother he loved, Joe fell into a deep 
sleep, a sleep from which we all feared 
he would no more awake on earth, and 
we watched him, fearing almost to move. 

Dick held him in his arms all that 
morning, and presently towards noon 
the doctor took the little wrist, and 
found the pulse still feebly beating; a 
smile lit up his good, kind face, and he 
whispered to me, There is hope.” 


144 


J. Cole. 


Thank God I whispered back, and 
ran away into my own room to sob out 
grateful prayers of thanksgiving to 
heaven for having spared the life so 
nearly lost to us. 

When I went back, Joe had just be- 
gun to awaken, and was looking up into 
his beloved Dick’s face, murmuring: 
^^Why, it’s Dick. Are you a-crying 
about me, Dick? Don’t cry — I’m all 
• right — I’m only so tired.” 

And having drank some wine the doc- 
tor had ordered should be given him, he 
nestled close to Dick’s breast, and again 
fell into a sweet sleep, a better, life-giv- 
ing sleep this time, for the faint color 
came to his pale little lips, and presently 


J. Cole. 


145 


Dick laid him down on the pillows, and 
rested his own weary arms. He would 
not move from Joe’s side for fear he 
might wake and miss him, but for many 
hours our little fellow slept peacefully, 
and so gradually came back to life. 

We never quite knew the particulars 
of the robbery, for, when Joe was well 
enough to talk, we avoided speaking of 
it. Dr. Loring said, The boy only 
partly remembers it, like a dream, and it 
is better he should forget it altogether; 
he will do so when he gets stronger. 
Send him home to his mother for a 
while ; and if he returns to you, let it bo 
to the country house where there is 
nothing to remind him of all this.” 


146 


J. Cole. 


Joe did get strong, and came back to 
ns, but no longer as a page-boy; be was 
nnder-gardener, and bis time was spent 
among bis favorite flowers and pet ani- 
mals, until one day Dick wrote to say bis 
father bad bought more land to be laid 
out in gardens, and if Joe could be 
spared he and Dick could work together, 
and in time set up for themselves in the 
business. 

So Joe left us, but not to forget us, 
or to be forgotten. On each anniversary 
of my birthday I find a bunch of mag- 
nificent roses on my breakfast table — 

With J. and R. Cole’s respectful 
duty,” and I know the sender is a fine, 
strong young market-gardener ; but 


J. Cole. 


147 


sometimes I look back a few years, and 
instead of the lovely roses, and the big, 
healthy giver, I seem to see a faded, 
dusty bunch of wild-flowers, held 
towards me by the little hot hand of a 
tired child with large blue eyes, and I 
hear a timid voice say, “ please ’m, it’s 
J. Cole; and IVe come to stay with 
yer!” 


THE END. 


J 



GERALD AND MAX. 



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GERALD AND MAX. 


Deae little children: I am going to 
tell you a story about two little boys who 
were greedy. Perhaps you don’t quite 
understand what it means, when people 
talk about being greedy, so I will try and 
tell you. 

I dare say you have little friends who 
come and play with you, and sometimes 
stay to tea or dinner; and when you are 
all seated round the table with the nice 
things provided for you, perhaps some 
child cannot wait until he is helped, but 
reaches over and takes the largest cake 


152 


Gerald and Max. 


or biggest orange on the dish; or if a lit- 
tle girl is sitting next to him, instead of 
helping her first, as a gentleman should 
always do, he does not care if she goes 
without, so long as he gets the most for 
himself. This is being greedy. 

I know a little boy who, whenever 
there is anything for dinner he likes very 
much, says, “ When I have eaten all this 
may I have some more?’’ He does not 
-even wait until he knows if he can eat 
all he has on his plate. 

Greedy children are very dainty and 
wasteful, they want everything they see, 
and cannot eat half they ask for. 

Now, Gerald and Max were greedy 
boys. If their mamma came up into the 


Gerald and Max. 


153 


nursery after her walk, they ran to her, 
and said, ^^What have you got for us, 
mammie? Have you any sweeties or 
cakes in your pocket ? ” 

If their mamma said, ‘^Ho, boys. I 
have nothing for you,’^ they would look 
quite cross; and when their kind mam- 
ma had gone away, Hurse used to tell 
them how wrong it was for children to 
think only of what mamma would have 
in her pocket for them to eat, and not 
be glad to see her because she loved them 
and was always good to them, taking 
tbem on her knee and telling them stor- 
ies, and always thinking of their happi- 
ness. Hurse told them of poor little 
children who had no kind mothers or 


154 


Gerald and Max. 


nurses, or anybody to be kind to them, no 
toys or books, and often no food, so that 
they cried with hunger, and were glad to 
pick up any hard crust from the road 
and be glad to eat it. 

The boys listened very quietly to 
these stories, but they could hardly be- 
lieve they were true. ITurse makes up 
those stories to tell us,’^ they would say; 
“ for how can any little boys or girls be 
hungry when there are so many shops 
where they sell cakes and buns? Why 
don’t they go in and ask for some?” 

One evening Gerald and Max were at 
tea in the nursery. It was summer time, 
and on the table were strawberries from 
the garden. Hurse gave them each 


Gerald and Max. 


155 


some, and left a few on the dish, i^ow, 
these greedy boys saw some were left, 
and without waiting to see if ^Turse had 
any, began to eat as fast as possible, 
Gerald trying to get done before Max, 
that he might have the few on the dish, 
and Max hoping Gerald would be done 
last, so that he might have them. 

Some more, please,” said both boys, 
at the same time pushing up their plates. 

^‘No, dears,” said ITurse, “you have 
had enough fruit; if you eat any more 
you will be ill.” 

“We have not had half enough,” 
cried Max. “There are plenty in the 
garden; I saw them to-day. I could eat 
twice as many, and you are a nasty cross 
nurse not to give us enough.” 


156 


Gerald and Max. 


could eat three platefuls/’ said 
Gerald, and I will have those on the 
dish/’ and he reached across the table to 
get them. But IsTurse put the dish away. 
And then these silly boys began to be 
very naughty: they threw their bread 
and butter on the floor, and spilt their 
milk, and were so rude and noisy, that 
presently Mrs. Oswald, their mamma, 
rang the nursery bell to know what all 
the noise was about. !N^urse was obliged 
to say how naughty and greedy they had 
been, and they were punished by being 
put to bed without going downstairs to 
stay an hour in their mamma’s room, to 
look at pictures and play with their new- 
est toys. 


Gerald and Max. 


157 


What silly boys they were! How 
much better it would have been had they 
been satisfied and not greedy ! then they 
would have been down in their mother’s 
room, hearing pretty stories and playing 
happily, instead of in bed, crying and 
sorry. 

When the boys were asleep, Mrs. Os- 
wald came up to look at them, as she 
always did before going to bed herself. 
She leaned over their little cots and 
kissed their faces, which were all red 
and wet with crying; she felt very sorry 
to have been obliged to punish them. 
It hurts mothers very much to punish 
their children, because they love them 
BO dearly; but if little children are al- 


158 


Gerald and Max. 


lowed to be naughty, they grow up into 
bad men and women, and are never 
happy. 

^‘Poor little boys!’’ said Mrs. Oswald, 
after kissing them softly. “ I hope they 
will be good to-morrow, TsTurse. It 
makes me sad to think my dear little 
ones have been naughty.” 

Nurse said she would tell them how 
sorry their mamma had been, when they 
awoke next morning; and she did, while 
they were being dressed. Both boys 
said they meant to be very good that day, 
and they kissed Nurse, and begged her 
pardon for what they did the evening 
before. They were really dear, loving 
little fellows, but that one fault of 
greediness was always getting them into 


Gerald and Max. 


159 


trouble. Even this very morning, when 
they had made up their minds to be so 
good, they nearly quarreled because 
there was a little more porridge in one 
plate than the other; and Max wanted 
the most, and reached over to get it. 
Gerald said, “ That’s my plate;” and be- 
tween them they nearly spilled the por- 
ridge on the floor. But IN’urse remind- 
ed them of their promise to be good, and 
they were quiet again. 

Breakfast was over, and the boys were 
out in the garden playing. Presently, 
Kemball, the gardener, passed across the 
lawn, on his way home to his dinner. 
The boys asked him if he had gathered 
any fruit for their dessert or tea. 


160 


Gerald and Max. 


young gentlemen,” said Kem- 
ball. I was told none would be want- 
ed to-day.” The boys ran by bis side a 
little way, asking about some rabbits he 
was going to bring them when they were 
old enough to take care of them; and 
Kemball asked them if they would like 
to go with him one day into the woods 
to gather wild strawberries. There 
are plenty a little way off,” said Kem- 
ball; and if you bring your baskets, we 
can fill them; but you must ask your 
mamma first, like good young gentle- 
men, and then I will take you.” 

Then the gardener went away, leav- 
ing Gerald and Max just inside the gar- 
den-gate. Presently Gerald said. 


Gerald and Max. 


161 


'^What was that Kemball said abont 
strawberries growing close by in the 
woods, Max?’’ 

Why,” said Max, he told us there 
were basketfuls there, and we could 
gather them for ourselves.” 

How jolly!” cried Gerald. ^^Why, 
we can eat as many as ever we like; and 
when we can’t eat any more, we can fill 
our baskets, and take a lot home, in case 
we feel hungry again, can’t we?” 

What a greedy boy he was! You see, 
he never thought of taking any for mam- 
ma, or Hurse, only for himself. Max 
said he should take two baskets, and was 
sure he could fill them. 

“ Suppose,” said Gerald, we go now. 


162 


Gerald and Max. 


Max, and try to find the strawberries 
ourselves. Never mind any baskets: we 
can put them in our hats; or perhaps 
cabbages grow in the woods, or rhubarb, 
and we can use some of the big leaves to 
put the strawberries in. It is quite 
early, and we could get back before our 
dinner-time. Come on. Max. I know 
the way.” And he pulled little Max by 
the arm, and opened the garden-gate. 

Now, these boys had been told not to 
go outside the gate by themselves, and 
they had never done so until that day; 
but they were greedy, and when they 
thought of having as many strawberries 
as they could eat, they were so pleased, 
and in such a hurry to begin to eat them. 


Gerald and Max. 


163 


that they forgot all they had been told 
about going outside the gate alone, and 
were soon scampering across the fields as 
fast as their little legs could run towards 
some big trees that grew at the begin- 
ning of the wood. 

ISTow, Max was younger than Gerald, 
and did whatever his brother told him; 
but when they were outside the gate, he 
said to Gerald, Gerrie, I hope Nurse is 
not looking out of the window, for, you 
know, we are not to go out by ourselves 
only as far as the gate, and I^m afraid 
she’ll be very cross, and perhaps tell 
mammie, and we shall be sent to bed 
again early, as we were last night, with- 
out going down to play in mammie's 


164 


Gerald and Max. 


room and hear stories. Do you think 
we had better go, Gerrie? Besides, I 
heard cook telling Nurse there were a 
lot of gypsies somewhere near, and you 
know sometimes they are bad people, and 
steal children.” 

Eubbish!” cried Gerald. You are 
a baby. Max, to be afraid. Why, if a 
gypsy wanted to steal me, I should just 
knock him down and give him a good 
beating, and then before he could get up 
I should run away! I am going to get 
a lot of strawberries, and perhaps we 
may find oranges, and peaches, and all 
sorts of nice things growing in the 
woods.” 

The silly boy did not know that 


Gerald and Max. 


165 


oranges and peaches do not grow in the 
woods; but little Max was quite pleased 
to go where he might find such good 
things, so he held Gerald’s hand fast, 
and ran, too, until they were far into the 
wood, under the big trees, and could not 
see anything but bushes and all sorts of 
plants and flowers. 

They did not want flowers, they were 
only anxious to find the strawberries, so 
they ran on and on until they were 
rather tired. They then remembered 
the wood was a big place, and they did 
not know in which part of it the straw- 
berries grew. 

Presently they sat down under a tree 
to rest their little legs, and Max, who 


166 


Gerald and Max. 


was only a very small boy, began to feel 
hungry, as it was nearly dinner time. 

“ Do you think, Gerrie,” said he, we 
shall soon find the strawberries and 
peaches? I am so hungry.” 

Gerald was hungry too, and had been 
wondering for a long time why they had 
not come to the strawberries. He was 
very tired, and did not know where to 
look, except under the bushes and 
among the grass. He thought perhaps 
they grew close to the ground, and it 
■would be better to crawl on their hands 
and knees; he told Max this, and then 
the foolish boys began to crawl along, 
but they soon got their hands and faces 
and knees stung by nettles, and scratched 


Gerald and Max. 


167 


by prickly plants. In some places the 
ground was wet like mud, and they got 
covered with it; and in others, it was 
like sand and gravel with tiny sharp 
stones. Soon Max began to cry; he had 
cut his knee with a sharp stone, and the 
pain made him stop, and call out to Ger- 
ald, who was in front of him. " Gerrie ! 
Gerrie dear! wait for me; I have hurt 
my knee,” he called. can’t!” cried 
Gerald. "I’m sure I can see some things 
growing on a bush over there, just like 
cherries; they must be good to eat You 
stay where you are. Max, and I’ll go and 
get some, and bring you some.” 

So poor tired little Max lay down on 
the ground — he was too tired to stand — 
11 


168 


Gerald and Max. 


and Gerald went on to the bush, where 
he thought cherries grew. The bush 
was further off than he thought, and he 
began to fill his pockets, tearing down 
the berries as fast as he could; he wanted 
to get a lot before he began to eat them : 
greedy boys always like to have a lot of 
everything. At last he saw a big red 
one, and it looked so good he put it into 
his mouth; but it was not a cherry at all, 
but a hard berry of some kind, with such 
a hot, bitter taste, that he took it quickly 
out of his mouth and threw it away, and 
emptied his p*J^ckets of all he had gath- 
ered before. 

^‘It’s no use my bringing you any. 
Max,” he called '^They are nasty 


Gerald and Max. 


169 


bitter things; you can’t eat them. Come 
on, Max. We had better go home now. 
Dinner will be ready, I should think.” 

He ran to the tree where he thought 
Max was, but could not see him. He 
called aloud, Max ! Max ! where have 
you gone? Let us go home now. It’s 
no use looking for the strawberries. 
Kemball must have meant some other 
wood; for they don’t grow here.” 

But no Max answered, and Gerald ran 
a little way along a path under some 
great trees; but it was so dark that he 
could not see far, and Max was not there. 
Then Gerald got frightened. Where 
could his little brother be? He felt 
afraid to be alone in the woods. It wae 


170 


Gerald and Max. 


getting so dark now, and there was a 
strange noise of the wind blowing the 
trees about. Presently it began to rain, 
and then he tried to run back towards 
home; but he did not know the way out 
of the wood, and at last, after running 
about, calling and shouting, he was so 
tired, cold, and wet, he could not stand 
or call out any more, but sat down under 
the tree and began to cry. He was very 
hungry, and thought of all the nice 
things at home for his dinner, and how 
glad he would be if he could only have 
a biscuit or a slice of bread. How thirsty 
he was, too. If he could only have a 
mug of water! But there was nothing 
for him. Soon it was nearly dark, and 


Gerald and Max. 


171 


lie thouglit of all tlie stories he had 
heard about bears, tigers, and wolves, 
and wondered if any wild beasts lived in 
these woods, and if they would find him, 
and eat him. How sorry he was he had 
been so greedy, and not waited until 
Kemball showed the way to where the 
strawberries grew! Poor little Gerald, 
he was being punished for his greediness. 

When it was quite dark, and he could 
not see even trees, he began to say his 
prayers, for he remembered once, when 
Max was a tiny baby, and very ill, he 
had seen his mamma kneel by his bed, 
and she told him she was asking God to 
make little brother Max well, and Max 


172 


Gerald and Max, 


had got well; so perhaps, if he asked 
God, He would show him the way out of 
the wood. He knelt down, and shut- 
ting his eyes so as not to be frightened 
by the waving branches of the trees, he 
put up his hands, and said, “ Gentle 
J esus, meek and mild, look upon a little 
child, and please tell me the way out of 
the wood, for I am very tired, and my 
head pains me, and Max is lost. I’m 
sorry we were so greedy. Please, dear 
God, answer me. I am going to sleep 
now, and please send an angel to take 
me home when I wake up. Amen.” 

Then poor Gerald crept under some 
dead leaves, and presently fell asleep, al- 
though at first he was so cold and his 


Gerald and Max. 


173 


head pained him so badly he could only 
cry and wish he were at home; but his 
tired little eyes closed at last, and he was 
sound asleep. 

It seemed he had only been asleep a 
very little while, when he felt something 
touch him, and awoke. At first he 
thought he was at home, but in a mo- 
ment he found he was in a strange place, 
lying on some straw in a dark room, only 
lighted by some wood burning in the cor- 
ner and a candle stuck in a bottle on a 
shelf. He tried to sit up, but his back 
and legs ached so, he could not bear to 
move. Close to him, on the straw, a big 
boy was lying fast asleop, and in his 
hand a piece of bread he had been eat- 
ing. 


1Y4 


Gerald and Max. 


Poor Gerald was so terribly hungry 
that, when he saw the bread, he could 
not help trying to take it from the boy^s 
hand, although it was a dirty, hard crust 
many little dogs would not care to eat; 
but he had scarcely touched it, when the 
boy awoke, and, seeing what Gerald was 
trying to do, gave him a hard blow with 
his fist and a kick, saying — 

“ What are you taking my bread for? 
1^11 teach you not to touch what isn^t 
yours.” And again he struck poor little 
Gerald, who began to scream with pain 
and fright. 

Then a man and woman, who had 
been in some comer where Gerald could 
not see them, came out, and began to 


Gerald and Max. 


175 


ask him who he was, and said they had 
found him asleep under a tree, and had 
brought him to their hut. Gerald told 
the man his name; and the woman 
said — 

“ Oh, I know the Oswalds’ house. 
It’s that big place with the garden close 
to the road.” 

Why,” said the man, it must be a 
good three mile from where we found 
the little chap; and now, what are we 
going to do with him ? ” 

The woman caught hold of Gerald, 
telling him to stand up and let her look 
at him. 

The poor child tried to stand, but his 
legs were so stiff and sore with walking. 


176 


Gerald and Max. 


and he had taken cold from sleeping on 
the wet grass, so that he really could not 
stand. 

The woman pulled him up, saying, 
Now, young sir, do as you’re bid, or it 
will be worse for you.” 

“ Please, ma’am,” said Gerald, “ I 
can’t — my legs won’t stand; and, please, 
I’m so very hungry. Pray don’t beat 
me. I do want something to eat and 
drink so very badly.” And the poor lit- 
tle fellow crawled over to the woman, 
and tried to take her hand; but she gave 
him a push, and he fell down, he was so 
weak and ill. 

The man was drinking some coffee out 
of a tin mug, and he said to his wife — 


Gerald and Max. ITT 

" Here, give him a taste of this and a 
bit of bread, missus; it won’t do to starve 
him, or we shall get into trouble.” And 
the man took the loaf of bread to cut a 
slice for Gerald. But the woman took 
it out of his hand, saying crossly — 

^‘What are you doing? Don’t cut 
that loaf for him; there’s plenty of bread 
good enough for him in the bag.” Then 
she got a bag from the corner of the 
room, and turned it out on the top of the 
box that was used for a table. Then she 
lifted Gerald up, and sat him by the box, 
telling him to eat. 

Poor Gerald could hardly lift the 
mug, his hands shook so much, but he 
managed to drink a little of the cold, bit- 


ITS Gerald and Max. 

ter coifee; but when be looked at wbat 
be was to eat, be felt quite sick. There 
were old dirty crusts, bones, pieces of 
meat and fat, pie-crusts, and stale bis- 
cuits, all sorts of things mixed up with 
cold potatoes. He felt be could not 
touch such food; but be was so very 
hungry, be knew be must eat something. 
How be thought of bis pretty nursery, 
and the clean white cloth spread on the 
table, the nice bread and butter, and bis 
pretty wbite-and-gold basin full of milk, 
the plates of gooseberries, raspberries, or 
some kind of fruit! And be remem- 
bered the stories Nurse bad told him — 
stories be thought could not be true — 
about poor children who bad only dirty 


Gerald and Max. 


179 


stale crusts to eat, and were glad even to 
get those. He looked at the stale food 
on the box, and began to feel he was a 
poor boy like Hurse talked about now, 
for he had nothing else to eat, and no- 
body to be kind to him. He put down 
his head on his hands, and began to cry; 
he could not bite the hard crust, though 
he tried. The woman snatched it away 
from him, and put it in a tin basin; then 
she poured some coffee on it and some 
hot water, and, giving him a spoon, told 
him to make haste and eat it. There 
was no milk or sugar in the coffee, and 
it was very nasty, but little Gerald was 
so hungry he ate it all, and could have 
eaten some more, but the woman cleared 


Gerald and Max. 


ISO 

it all away, and told Him to lie down 
again, and not move, as she was going 
out. 

The big boy who had struck Gerald 
was eating his breakfast from the pieces 
in the bag; and Gerald hoped he would 
go out too, for he was such a cross boy, 
and might try to fight him: but when 
the man and woman went, they told the 
boy to look after Gerald, and see he did 
not run away. 

“ How can I help it?” said Jim. “ If 
he wants to go, what can I do with him?” 

Oh,” said the woman, we’ll soon 
prevent that;” and she found a piece of 
rope, and tied it round Gerald’s arm, 
and then to the iron handle of the big 


Gerald and Max. 


181 


box they used for a table. "N’ow he 
can^t go far/^ she said. ^^And if he 
screams, or calls out when anybody 
passes by, just you tell me, and I’ll flog 
him when I come back with this;” and 
she held up a great stick, and shook it in 
Gerald’s face. Then she went out, clos- 
ing the door, leaving Gerald and Jim 
alone. 

I^ow I must tell you what Max was 
doing all this time. You remember 
Gerald left him sitting by a tree, when 
he went to get the berries he thought 
were good to eat, and that looked like 
cherries. Well, poor little Max waited a 
long time for his brother to come back, 
and thought he would try to go to sleep. 


182 


Gerald and Max. 


he felt so tired and hungry; but the tree 
hurt his back when he leaned against it, 
so he went over to another place, where 
there was a bank covered with soft green 
moss. It felt cool and pleasant to his 
sore, tired little feet, and was just like 
a soft pillow for his head, so he closed 
his eyes and was asleep in a moment. 
When Gerald called him he did not hear, 
and a big bush hid him, so that Gerald 
could not find him. You remember 
Gerald fell asleep too, after running a 
long way, trying to find Max. The 
man and his wife found him, but did not 
see little Max behind the bush, so they 
only carried Gerald away, while Max 
slept soundly. 


Gerald and Max. 


183 


It was quite dark wken Max awoke, and 
ne was very frightened at finding himself 
alone in the woods. He called Gerald 
several times, hut no one answered. 
Some big birds fiew out of the bushes, 
and made him scream with fright. He 
was only a very little boy, and had never 
been out by himself before, even in the 
daytime, close to his home, so no wonder 
he was frightened all alone in the woods, 
and night coming on. He was cold and 
wet; his little shoes had come off when 
he was crawling along, and his thin 
socks were in holes from walking on the 
rough ground. His hat had blown away 
somewhere, when he first ran into the 

wood; and as for his frock, it had been a 
12 


184 


Gerald and Max. 


pretty white one when he left home, but 
now it was so dirty and torn, his blue 
sash so wet and spoiled, no one could tell 
what color it had been. His pretty curls 
were tangled with leaves and bits of moss 
clinging to them, his poor little knees cut 
and bleeding, and his hands and arms 
scratched and sore. Altogether he was 
a very miserable little boy; and as he sat 
by himself in the dark, the stars looked 
down on him, and he thought he knew 
one very bright one — it was just like 
one he could see when he was in his lit- 
tle cot, and called, “My star.’^ 

He began to think of that little cot, 
and his dear mammie^s loving kisses 
when she said “ Good-night to her 


Gerald and Max. 


185 


dear boys; and, bolding up his little arms 
to his star, he cried aloud for ^^Mam- 
mie! mammie! Do come, mammie! 
I am all alone by myself. Gerrie has 
gone, and everybody is such a long way 
off. We were greedy, and wanted a lot 
of strawberries, that’s what we ran into 
the woods for, and we got lost. Please 
try and hear me, mammie dear.” Then 
he called louder and louder, but his 
throat got sore, and he could not call any 
more. The trees looked like big giants 
holding out their arms to him, and he 
hid his face in fear. Presently, when he 
was just going to lie down and try to 
sleep again, he heard a dog bark, and 
saw a light coming through the trees a 


186 


Gerald and Max. 


long way off. He sat up and called as 
loudly as lie could, but in a very weak 
little voice now, very different to the 
shouts he had given when Gerald and he 
first ran away from home. 

^^¥ell! Hell!’^ he called. Hell was 
the name of a big dog belonging to Mrs. 
Oswald. ‘‘Hell! is that you? Come 
and find me, Hell!^’ 

Presently the barking got louder, and 
the lights closer, and somebody said, 
“ Hie ! good dog, find him, find him ! 
and Hell bounded through the trees on 
to Max, as he sat on the ground, and 
began licking him, and jumping round 
him, and doing everything a dog could 
to show how glad he was. Then Max 


Gerald and Max. 


187 


saw John, the footmanj the coachman, 
several men, and a policeman following 
Kell, and he knew they had come to find 
him. He was so thankful and glad, but 
so tired and ill, that he could only cry 
aut, Oh, John, I am lost; please make 
haste and take me home.’’ 

“But where’s Master Gerald?” said 
J ohn. “ He was with you. Master Max, 
we thought.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Max; “ he went 
away ever so long ago, and never came 
back.” And then poor Max put his 
head down on John’s shoulder, and the 
lights and the men seemed to go away, 
and he could not see or hear anything 


more. 


188 


Gerald and Max. 


‘^Poor little fellow!” said John, ^he 
has been too long without food, and is 
going to faint.” 

^^Here!” said the policeman, ^^Mrs. 
Oswald slipped this parcel into my hand 
as we was coming away, in case they was 
hungry, as they might be, if they’d 
strayed into the woods.” 

The parcel was a big slice of sponge 
cake, and a flask with some milk, and 
something else in it, that made it do 
Max good directly he drank it. He 
opened his eyes, and John put some of 
the sponge cake into the milk, and fed 
him with it. 

What is best to do?” said John. I 
don’t like to go back without Master 


Gerald and Max. 189 

Gerald, and yet it seems as if we ought 
to get this poor little fellow home, and 
into his bed at once, or we shall have 
him laid up with fever; his clothes are 
dripping wet, and he’s shivering with 
cold.’^ 

“ See here, Mr. John,” said the police- 
man. You go back home with that 
child, and me and two or three of the 
men will take the dog with us, and see 
if we can come across the other little 
chap. He may have wandered much 
further on; this forest reaches miles.” 

^^All right,” replied John. And then, 
carrying poor little Max, who was going 
to sleep again, J ohn walked towards 
home, while the others, taking Hell with 
them, went the other way. 


190 


Gerald and Max. 


Soon little Max was in his dear mam- 
mals arms, and his poor little cold limbs 
tenderly washed in a nice warm bath. 
Nurse kept crying out with pity and sur- 
prise when she saw the dear little pink 
feet she had kissed so often, and kept 
so warm and clean, all cut and bleeding, 
and covered with black mud; the pretty 
hair she had brushed and curled so nicely 
in the morning, tangled and dirty; and 
the rosy cheeks so pale and wet with 
tears. 

Oh, my dear little Master Max,’^ 
cried Nurse, all this has come from be- 
ing greedy. Why were you not satis- 
fied with what Nurse could give you? 
Why did you want more? How I wish 


Gerald and Max. 191 

I knew how to make you give up being 
greedy!’’ 

“ Perhaps, Nurse,” said Mrs. Oswald, 
he will be a better boy now, when he 
remembers the pain and trouble he has 
had.” 

So Max was washed, and put to bed; 
and after drinking some delicious warm 
arrowroot, he put his head on his soft 
pillow, and was soon fast asleep. 

Gerald was left tied to the box in the 
hut, as you remember, so that he should 
not run away. When the boy Jim had 
finished his meal, he began playing with 
some bits of wood and stones, but every 
now and then he looked at Gerald, and 
saw he was holding his head with his 
hands, and crying quietly. 


192 


Gerald and Max. 


^^Wliat do yon cry for?” he said. 
What’s the use of crying? — don’t make 
anything better.” 

‘‘I can’t help it,” said Gerald; ^^my 
head hurts me so much, and my legs 
ache. I do want to go home. Oh, do 
you think they will take me home ? ” 
don’t know,” said Jim. ^^You 
see, if your people offer some money to 
any one as finds you, father will take 
you back so as to get it.” 

“I’ve got more than five shillings in 
my money-box at home,” said Gerald; 
“and if you will take me home. I’ll give 
it all to you.” 

“ I daren’t do that,” said Jim. 
“ Mother said I was to see you didn’t 


Gerald and Max. 


193 


run away, and IVe got to. Mother^s 
awful cross when I don^t mind her; and 
she just hits me over my head with that 
big stick — and it hurts, I can tell you. 
Whatever made you leave your home 
and get lost? What did you come into 
the woods for?’’ 

I wanted to find some strawberries,” 
said Gerald. 

“ Couldn’t you get none at home?” 
asked Jim. 

^^Yes, we did have some,” replied 
Gerald, but not so many as we wanted; 
and we heard lots grew in the wood, so 
we wanted to find them, and eat as many 
as we liked.” 

“Ah” said Jim, “you was greedy, 


194 


Gerald and Max. 


that’s what you was, and you’d better 
have been satisfied with what you got. 
I dare say now you had a fine breakfast 
up there, where you live — better than 
you had to-day. I’ve heard mother say 
as some little chaps has eggs, as well as 
bread and butter and all sorts of jam.; 
but I can’t hardly believe that’s true.” 

Yes, it is,” replied Gerald, “we often 
had all that.” 

“ Oh my!” cried Jim. “ I wish I was 
you. I never had a proper breakfast 
like that in all my life, and never shall 
have, I don’t think. Why, sometimes, 
when we can’t get no work, father, 
mother, and me has had to do without 
anything, except perhaps a turnip or two 


Gerald and Max. 


195 


we stole out of a field, and any apples we 
oould find under the .trees in the 
orchards. Father puts me over the wall 
to pick ’em up, and I am just frightened 
for fear I’ll be caught; and there’s big 
dogs comes after me sometimes, and 
makes me run pretty quick, I can tell 
you.” 

^ But that was stealing,” said Gerald. 

Jim held his head down, and looked 
ashamed; then he said, Yes, I suppose 
it was; but if you’re so hungry you feels 
as if a big wolf was inside you, bitin’ and 
scratchin’, and he won’t be quiet and 
leave off till you get something to eat, 
you don’t mind picking up a few apples 
and turnips, even if they ain’t yours to 


196 


Gerald and Max. 


take. Yon don’t know what hunger is. 
You’ve only gone without your food half 
a day; and I’ve often gone two whole 
days, and never had nothing but what 
I could pick up like that.” 

Gerald listened to Jim, and felt very 
sorry for him. He remembered the nice 
food iN'urse often got ready for break- 
fast, and how sometimes he and Max 
would grumble, and say it was not good, 
and they didn’t like gooseberry jam, 
they wanted raspberry; and would push 
their plates away, and be rude and cross 
with nurse. He knew now how true the 
stories were she told of poor boys who 
had no nice things at all. Why, here 
was Jim, who had nothing sometimes to 


Gerald and Max. 


197 


eat, and was beaten with a big stick if 
he did not do as he was told! Yes, it 
was all true. And how he wished he 
could run straight home and put his 
arms round Nurse’s neck, and kiss her, 
and tell her how sorry he was for being 
a naughty greedy boy! But it was no 
use wishing; now he was in this dirty 
hut, far away from his home, and per- 
haps he should have to stay and be 
beaten like Jim, and be hungry and 
dirty always. When he thought of this, 
he could not help crying again, and ask- 
ing Jim once more to take him home. 
But Jim told him he dare not; and so 
they sat there a long while, watching lit- 
tle mice and beetles run about the floor, 


198 


Gerald and Max. 


and listening to the birds singing out- 
side. 

Presently the door was opened with a 
bang, and tbe man and woman came in 
Tery quickly. ^^Come!” sbe said to 
Gerald, I’m going to take you borne; 
mind, you are to keep quiet, and not say 
one word, only wbat I tell you. And 
you, Jim, when we’re gone, lock tbe 
door; and if anybody comes, keep them 
as long as you can outside, and pretend 
you were asleep and didn’t bear them 
knock. They are sure to ask if there’s a 
child here, and you say father and me 
found him outside the door, and brought 
him in and fed him, and have taken him 
home ever so long ago,” 


Gerald and Max. 


199 


Jim said, ^^All right, mother.’’ And 
then the man, taking Gerald in his arms, 
and the woman walking by his side, they 
started off down a steep path through the 
very thickest part of the forest. 

It seemed to Gerald a very long while 
before they came out of the wood, but at 
last there was a road, and a man with a 
horse and cart waiting. Gerald was lift- 
ed in, and the man took the reins, and 
soon they were driving along very fast, 
the man making the horse gallop. 

'' We must get there quick,” he said 
to the woman, ''before the others get 
back; and we’ll have to hide a bit, in case 
the little chap tells how long we kept him 
in the hut. Mind you be in a desperate 
13 


200 


Gerald and Max. 


hurry to get back to the sick child youVe 
left at home alone/^ 

know what to say/^ said the wo- 
man; ‘^you leave me alone. A good 
job; Xed Eowe happened to hear the 
men talking of how they found the other 
youngster, and how they^d sent some 
men on to look for this one.^^ 

Yes,” replied the man, “ ‘f they’d 
found this one with us, we shojld have 
been taken up for stealin’ him, sure 
enough; but now, we’ve found him, and 
are taking him home, ain’t we?” 

‘‘ Certainly we are,” laughed the wo- 
man. 

Presently, Gerald was delighted to see 
his home a little way oS, and soon they 


Gerald and Max. 


201 


drove up to the doorj and in a moment 
his dear mother, nurse, and all the other 
servants were round him, kissing him, 
and ready to cry with joy at seeing him. 

Oh !” said Mrs. Oswald to the man 
and woman, “ my good people, where did 
you find my darling child?’’ 

Well, ma’am,” said they, we heard 
a noise outside our place, which is miles 
away from here, and there was this little 
chap almost dead with cold and hunger. 
Me and my wife took him in and gave 
him something to eat and drink, and as 
he could tell where he lived, we bor- 
rowed a horse and cart and brought him 
home; and’ now you’ve got him safe 
back, we’ll be going, for we’re anxious 


202 


Gerald and Max. 


to get back to our o^vn little boy, who is 
ill, and the wife^s had to leave him by 
hisself so as to help me bring back young 
master there.” 

“Oh! you kind woman,” said Mrs. 
Oswald. “ I don’t know how to thank 
you.” She took some gold from her 
purse and put it into the woman’s hand. 
Then they drove off as quickly as they 
could, and Gerald was carried upstairs, 
and laid in his own little bed beside Max, 
who was too tired and ill to want to talk. 

The boys were both ill for many days; 
they had taken cold, and had bad sore 
throats and pains all over them. They 
had suffered so much, there was no need 
to scold them for being so naughty. 


Gerald and Max. 


203 


Gerald got well before Max, and tbe first 
time be got up to breakfast there was a 
dish of fruit on the table. He said to 
Hurse, “ Hurse! do you think if I gave 
everybody some first, and then only take 
very little for myself, I shall not be 
called greedy any more ? I do want you 
to say I am not greedy.’^ 

I am sure. Master Gerald,’’ said 
Hurse^ “I will say so very gladly; for 
I have seen how sorry you are, and I 
don’t think you will ever forget all the 
trouble greediness brought to you and all 
of us.” 

So Gerald and Max became good lit- 
tle boys, and a long time after, when 
summer came again, Kemball^ the 


204 


Gerald and Max. 


dener, took them into the woods, and 
showed them where the strawberries 
grew; they gathered their baskets full, 
and carried them home without wanting 
to eat them all, as they used to do. Ger- 
ald wanted to find the hut and to see poor 
Jim again, but they could never find it. 
There were some very great storms in 
the winter, and perhaps the hut was 
blown down, and Jim and his father and 
mother had to go somewhere else. Ger- 
ald was sorry, for he would often say to 
JTurse, that Jim was a very poor boy, 
and would like some proper breakfast, 
like Max and himself. 

Now I hope, if any greedy little boys 
or girls read this story, they will try not 


Gerald and Max. 


205 


to be greedy any more, in case they get 
into such trouble as Gerald and Max did. 


THE END. 


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